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An outline of
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 KANSAS CITY MO. PUBLIC LIBRARY

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 THE MODERN LIBRARY
OF THE WORLD'S BEST BOOKS

AN OUTLINE OF
PSYCHOANALYSIS

The publishers will be pleased to send, upon request, an

illustrated folder setting -forth the purpose and scope of

THE MODERN LIBRARY, and listing each volume

in the series. Every reader of books will find titles he
has been looking for., handsomely printed,, in definitive

editions, and at an unusually low price.

 AN OUTLINE OF
PSYCHOANALYSIS
REVISED EDITION

EDITED BY Clara Thompson, M.D.,

Milton Mazer, M.D. AND Earl Witenberg, MIX

THE MODERN LIBRARY NEW YORK

 COPYRIGHT, 1955, BY RANDOM HOUSE, INC.
Selections contained in this volume are: Copyright, 1949, 1950, by W, W,
Norton 6 Company, Inc.; Copyright, 1949, Orgone Institute Press, Inc.;

Copyright, 1950, 1951, by The

Psychoanalytic Quarterly, Inc.; Copyright,
1946, 1950, 1952 by The Ronald Press Company; Copyright, 1949, by
Her-
mitage Press, Inc.; Copyright, 1948, by International Universities Press, Jnc^
Copyright, 1952, Springer PublishingCompany, Inc.; Copyright, 1 950, 1952,
1953, by The William Alanson White Psychiatric Foundation, Inc.; Copy-
right, 1947, by Erich Fromm; Copyright, 1936, 1945, by Alfred A. Knopf9
Copyright, 1941, 1951, by Harper d Brothers; Copyright, 1953, by
1

Inc.;
Association for Research in Nervous and Mental Disease.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 55-6392

THE MODERN LIBRARY

is published by RANDOM HOUSE, INC.

BENNETT CERF DONALD S. KLOPFER

Manufactured in the United States of America by H. Wolff

CONTENTS
PAGE
Foreword ix

Introduction xi

CLARA THOMPSON

1 THEORY
Freud's Formulations

1 The Theory of the Instincts 5

SIGMUND FREUD

2 The Development of the Sexual Function 9

SIGMUND FREUD

3 Mental Qualities 14
SIGMUND FREUD

The Study of the Ego

4 On the Technique of Character-Analysis 25
WILHELM REICH

5 The Genesis of the Superego 39

ERNEST JONES

6 Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 48

WILLIAM V. SILVERBERG

7 Ego Psychology and Interpretation in Psychoanalytic

Therapy 77
ERNST KRIS
v
7164558
 Contents

PAGE
Anxiety

8 Freud's Evolving Theories of Anxiety 97

ROLLO MAY

9 Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety 113

FRIEDA FROMM-REICHMANN

Breams

10 Evaluation of Dreams in Psycho- Analytic Practice 137

ELLA FREEMAN SHARPE

11 Dream-Analysis in Its Practical Application 159

c. G. JUNG

CMIdSiood

12 The Psychosomatic Implications of the Primary Unit:

Mother-Child 185
THERESE BENEDEK

13 On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 203

ERNEST G. SCHACHTEL

14 Toys and Reasons 227

ERIK H. ERIKSON

15 Preadolescence 248
HARRY STACK SULLIVAN

16 Early Adolescence 261

HARRY STACK SULLIVAN

The Study of Character

17 Character and Anal Erotism 277

SIGMUND FREUD
Contents vn

PAGE
18 Individual Psychology, Its Assumptions and Its

Results 283
ALFRED ABLER

19 Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 298

KARL ABRAHAM

20 Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-interest 320

ERICH FROMM
21 Character 338
ERICH FROMM
22 The Search for Glory 369
KAREN HORNEY

23 The Feminine Character 386

VIOLA KLEIN

24 Some Effects of the Derogatory Attitude Towards

Female Sexuality 409
CLARA THOMPSON

ill HERAP Y
Goals of Therapy

25 The Final Goal of Psycho-analytic Treatment 423

MICHAEL BALINT

26 Analysis of the Therapeutic Factors in Psychoanalytic

Treatment 436
FRANZ ALEXANDER

27 The Basis of a Will Therapy 455

OTTO RANK
viii Contents

PAGE
Transference and CouittertransieFence

28 On Transference of Emotions 471

MICHAEL BALINT
29 The Transference Phenomenon in Psychoanalytic

Therapy 485
JANET MACKENZIE RIOCH

30 The Transference Phenomenon 503

THOMAS M. FRENCH
31 Transference and Character Analysis 527
CLARA THOMPSON

32 Countertransference and Anxiety 539

MABEL BLAKE COHEN

The Psychoanalytic Process

33 Psychoanalytic Therapy 565

A. H. MASLOW AND BELA MITTELMANN
34 Recent Advances in Psychoanalytic Therapy 593
SANDOR RADO

Glossary 615
FOREWORD

In 1924 the Modern Library published a collection of im-

portant psychoanalytic contributions entitled Outline of Psy-
choanalysis edited by J. S. van Teslaar. At that time psycho-
analysis was just beginning to be a subject of Interest to the
informed layman. The book was timely and represented well
the theoretical and practical contributions of psychoanalysis
up to that point. But psychoanalysis has continued to grow
and change since that time. It has entered new fields of study
of the human personality and a vast literature has accumu-
lated.In 1924 in the United States only one psychoanalytic
journal existed, while today at least five journals published
quarterly are devoted to the field of psychoanalysis. In addi-
tion, two psychiatric journals also publish psychoanalytic
articlesfrom time to time. There are many new books pre-
senting the subject both for those in the professional field
and for the informed layman. The task of collecting an
anthology is therefore much more arduous than it was in
1924, and, although it has not been possible to include
writings from all the outstanding contributors to present-day
psychoanalysis, an attempt has been made to make the volume
truly representative of psychoanalytic thinking today.
An anthology serves a special purpose. By presenting the
views of many authors it gives the reader an opportunity
to see and evaluate for himself the many approaches which

go to make up a science such as psychoanalysis. In this an-

thology we attempt to bring the reader up to date. We have
especially emphasized the changes in theory and therapeutic
goals which have developed in the last thirty years.
INTRODUCTION

The Development of Psychoanalysis

If psychiatry was once called the stepchild of medicine, psycho-

analysis was certainly the stepchild of psychiatry. One of Freud's
bitter disappointments in the early years of his work was the
lack of interest and often open hostility for his theories on the
part of his medical colleagues. Today this has disappeared in
most informed medical circles. Instruction
in psychoanalytic

theory has become a part of the curricula of many medical

schools as well as of other graduate departments of universities.
Its principles are used by social workers, teachers, lawyers and
ministers as well as by psychologists and psychiatrists. Psycho-
analysis has gained the attention of the public. It has achieved
a position not only of popularity but of respect and status. At
the same time it has continued to be a growing expanding
science. There have been far-reaching changes in its theory,
therapeutic techniques and goals of treatment. Its various stages
have developed out of the preceding ones as knowledge of the
dynamics of the human personality has grown.
It is now nearly seventy years since Freud first started his

study of the causes and cure of the neuroses. In 1885, after

making important contributions to organic neurology, Freud be-
came interested in the functional neuroses. After brief study with
Charcot, the outstanding hypnotist of his time, he became associ-
ated with Breuer in Vienna and continued his efforts to cure
functional neuroses by hypnosis. The two men came to the con-
clusion that neurotic symptoms were produced by the repression
of unpleasant or painful memories or affects. These repressed
experiences, seemingly forgotten, remained unconscious, influ-
encing the personality until they were brought back into con-
sciousness and re-experienced under the influence of hypnosis.
xi
xii Introduction

In many cases this caused the symptoms to disappear. However,

itsometimes happened that a patient could not be hypnotized.
In the course of trying to help such a person Freud and the
patient made the discovery of the psychoanalytic method of
free association which remains one of the chief tools of psycho-
analytic inquiry, although more active techniques have also been
developed. In free association the patient reports without censor-
ship whatever goes through his mind. No exceptions are to be
made; it matters not whether the thoughts are painful, em-
barrassing, inconsequential or important. All must be said. If
this is done results similar to those achieved under hypnosis are
obtained. It soon became apparent that free association was a
very difficult thing to persuade a patient to do. Interruptions of
the flow of associations repeatedly occurred. Freud soon recog-
nized these as resistances and concluded that resistance was pro-
duced by the same sort of attitude which had caused the patient
to put the experience out of his mind in the first place. Thus
shame, guilt, fear of disapproval seemed especially potent mo-
tives for forgetting and/or blocking the attempt to recaU. Freud
concluded from his cases that repression of early sexual experi-
ence could always be shown to be the cause of the neurosis. At
first he thought that the sexual traumata reported by his patients
were genuine, but about 1900 he began to doubt this; at least
it was apparent that not all people suffering from neurosis had

been exposed to actual sexual traumata.

This led him to an investigation of the sexual life of the child
and to his discoveries of the erotic component in the pregenital
activities of children which have had a far-reaching eifect on
the understanding and education of children. However, when the
pregenital sex life of the patient becomes the main focus of
therapy it tends to concentrate his attention on reconstructing
his past at the expense of understanding his disturbed present.
Neither the past nor the present should be the main interest of
the psychoanalyst. The terms themselves imply a dichotomy that
does not exist, for personality is an evolving continuum.
Freud gradually succeeded in interesting some fertile mindt:
in his theories. Among them were Abraham, Adler, Ferencxi,
Jones, and Jung, to mention only a few. But Adler and Juang
Introduction xiii

were skeptical of some of Freud's theories, especially his theory

of the sexual etiology of the neuroses. By 1910 their disagree-
ments were becoming more obvious. Freud himself was beginning
to turn his attention to an aspect of the personality which he had

neglected until this time, the self-preservation (or ego) drive.

From this point on psychoanalysis concerned itself less with
symptoms and more with understanding the total personality.
Adler made a significant contribution to this although his ap-
proach was oversimplified. He was the first pupil of Freud to
disagree with him so extensively that they could no longer work
together. He left the Freudian group in 1911 and established his
own school. Adler differed with Freud in two main respects: he
denied the importance of sex in the etiology of the neuroses and
in place he saw the "will to power" as the great neurosis-
its

producing drive in man. He thought that the goals that the indi-
vidual was seeking were more potent sources of difficulty than
traumatic experiences in the past. Thus he placed relatively little
emphasis on the recall of early childhood experiences and a
great deal of emphasis on the current motivations. In a sense
he was the first person to suggest a method of character analysis.
Jung's disagreement with Freud also centered around denial of
the sexual etiology of the neuroses. He saw libido as a vital force
not necessarily sexual in origin. He felt that Freud had not suffi-
ciently stressed the "higher" nature of man and he believed that
many difficulties were due to inability to achieve "self-realiza-
tion."He recognized the importance of early childhood but did
not see the early ties to the parents as primarily sexual. Rather
he saw the early dependency on the mother as based on her food-
providing role. During the first years of his association with
Freud he made contributions Freudian theory but by 1913
to
his thinking differed so widely from Freud's that he left the
Freudian group and eventually established his own school.
In the course of his study of the total personality, Freud began
to note aspects of behavior which were not readily explained by
his theory that man is dominated by the pleasure principle,

namely, that he seeks constantly to free himself from tension

and to achieve satisfaction. He also began to question whether
^pressed libido was the sole source of neurotic difficulties. He
xlv Introduction

noted that not all cases of hostile and aggressive behavior could
be explained as sadistic expression of the libido. He also ob-

served that there was a tendency for people to get into the same
repeatedly, that there seemed to be
of a tendency
types .difficulty
in man
to repeat earlier experiences automatically irrespective
of whether the experience was pleasant or painful. This drive
seemed to be a stronger force than the pleasure principle. Freud
named it the repetition compulsion. By 1920 his ideas of a new
theory of the instincts became crystallized
and were described
in a book, Beyond the Pleasure Principle. In it he presented for
the first time the idea of a death instinct which he saw as exist-
ing side by side with the life instinct. He postulated that these
two forces are active from birth. The death instinct, which was
a new idea, he saw as primarily a self-destructive force which
could be prevented from destroying the individual in two ways.
It might be turned outwards toward others in the form of
hos-

tility or aggression or it might unite with the life (sexual) instinct

and become sadism or masochism. By thus erotizing the destruc-
tive force it lost some of its destructive power, he thought.
Whether the theoretical explanation is correct or not, the scope
of psychoanalytic investigation was greatly increased by bring-
ing into prominence the importance
of repressed aggression. The
repetition compulsion proved to be another
of the theory
concept
which was very useful therapeutically. At about the same tiinr
Freud clarified the function of the ego and divided the human
personalityinto three parts, the ego, superego and id. The chap-
ters in this book on Freud's basic formulations will furthe*

explain these changes.

Still another contribution of Freud's in the 1920*s was a new
theory of anxiety which is summarized in this
volume by Rollo
This stated clearly for the first time that the at-
May. theory
tempt to escape anxiety was at the root of every neurosis.
Freud had noted earlier that anxiety was often present in neurosis
but the theory of the dynamic interaction with neurotic symptoms
was first presented in 1926. This discovery has formed the
basis for later contributions to theory. The theory, expressed
in very condensed form, is that anxiety tends to appear when
tbe instinctual forces within a person threaten his relation to the
Introduction xv

outside world, that Is, when he is threatened with loss of love,

punishment {castration is the term used in classical Freudian
literature) or social ostracism. In these situations the ego de-
velops a defense against the anxiety, a defense designed to pre-
vent the forbidden impulse from expressing itself. The protection
may be a character trait or symptom.
It is seen, then, that in the 1920's Freud made several im-

portant new theoretical formulations which have helped to

guide psychoanalytic research into new channels. The important

new theories pertained to the function of the ego, the role of
anxiety in character and symptom formation, the importance of
repressed aggression in emotional disorder and the observation
that people in general tend to repeat earlier patterns in their lives
even when they are unpleasant or painful (the repetition com-
pulsion).
Changes in therapeutic technique began to develop at about
the same time, partly no doubt as a result of the changes in
theory. A more active method than free association, first stated
specifically by Reich, later somewhat modified and elaborated
by Anna Freud, Sullivan and many others, was devised for the
analysis of character. Free association was not discarded, but
was seen as one of several possible tools of psychoanalytic treat-
ment.
Another important change concerned the therapeutic use of
Freud started his work as a hypnotist. One of the
transference.
basic necessities for successful hypnosis is that there should be
no questioning of the authority of the therapist. The patient gets
well because he is urged to improve. This attitude was taken
over in the early days of psychoanalysis in the form of utilizing
the positive transference of the patient to encourage him toward
mental health. That is, the patient developed an exaggerated
confidence in the doctor, making him a benevolent father figure;
the doctor used this authority to lead the patient to "insight."
Only when the patient became hostile, that is, had negative trans-
ference, was there an attempt to point out the irrationality of
the attitude. The analyst utilized the patient's dependency as a
means of helping him. This did not always produce the desired
results and it often fostered dependencies which were difficult
xvi Introduction

to resolve. In order to maintain his neutrality the analyst was

advised to remain as nearly as possible a mirror, that is, to avoid
any personal involvement, give no information about himself
and sit behind the patient so that there were few clues to any
reactions he might have. Ferenczi and Rank, in about 1925,
were the first to point out, each in somewhat different ways,
that the therapeutic results of analysis were comparatively un-

satisfactory because analysis under these conditions was not a

vital emotional experience. Rank pointed out the authoritarian
nature of the method. Hebelieved the cure lay in the direction
of encouraging the patient to rebel against the analyst, to assert
his counter will. By being able to struggle against the father

authority (or mother authority), the patient would gain his

independence.
Ferenczi also felt that the destruction of the infallible authori-
was important. He suggested, as a
tarian position of the analyst
means of bringing this about and making the analytic situation
a more genuine emotional experience, greater frankness on the
part of the analyst about himself and his attitudes. He should be
more ready to admit any mistakes he might make and he should
not try to work with a patient toward whom he could not feel
a genuinely friendly attitude of acceptance. Among the contribu-
tions in this book those of Balint come closest to representing
Ferenczi's approach. Ferenczi himself published almost nothing
about the work of his later years.
Although there was considerable resistance among analysts
to both Rank's and Ferenczi's ideas of the role of the therapist,
the attitude toward the patient has been gradually shifting in
the direction of their views. At
least it has changed to the extent
that the patient's dependency and transference are dealt with
earlier in treatment and the analyst seeks to avoid and certainly
does not encourage an authoritarian type of relationship. In the
course of developing his "will" theory, Rank turned away from
Freud's instinct theories and in 1925 Freudian group.
left the

In time he developed his own school.

By 1930 the findings of anthropologists in the study of com-
parative cultures began to interest a few psychoanalysts. Freud
Introduction xvii

himself, in the latter part of the 1920's, had become interested

in making some application of psychoanalysis to the study of
society. Other analysts became interested in using the under-
standing of different cultures to examine the validity of Freudian
theory. It became apparent to this group that some of man's be-
havior which Freud had thought biologically determined, that is,
a part of innate human nature, is in fact a product of the West-
ern culture and is not present in all societies. For example the
latency period and the Oedipus complex found very frequently
in our society are believed by most authorities not to be universal.
The discovery that society is a constantly changing organization
made by the people in it and at the same time molding their
lives has led to increased interest in the interaction of people
with each other. Sullivan's theory of interpersonal relations
stresses this.
In the last twenty-five years much greater emphasis in therapy
has been placed on understanding and altering the defensive be-
havior than on recalling memories of traumatic experiences of
early childhood. There has been less stress on understanding the
instinct life and more on understanding the defensive system
than was the case in early psychoanalytic work. What is today
recognized as the defense system of the ego was called resistance
in the early years. Effort was exerted to overcome it either

through suggestion or reassurance. Today understanding the dy-

namic function of the resistance is used as a means of studying
the ego, observing how character is formed and how it can be
changed. The changes in technique which accompany this new
field of interest are less reliance on free association as a means
of making conscious the unconscious, greater activity in pointing
out the ways in which the patients defend themselves, and greater
concern on the part of therapists about the impact of their own
personalities in the analyst-patient relationship. This last area of
research, the study of the importance of the counter transference,
is currently a subject of great interest. It is the topic about which
Ferenczi was talking in 1930. At that time openly discussing
it with a patient was considered a dangerous and revolutionary

practice. Today we have come to see that the analytic situation

xviii Introduction

isan interpersonal one in which the impact of the analyst's per-

sonality can not and should not be ignored. In fact, his reactions
have a positive role in curing the patient.
In this book we have attempted to present characteristic con-
tributions not only of the classical Freudian school but of all
other schools which have developed out of a Freudian back-
ground. The papers have been grouped under the important
topics of psychoanalysis. With the exception of a few papers of
great historical importance, the majority of the articles have
been written in the last thirty years. In other words, this book
isa presentation of psychoanalysis today. Thus under the head-
ing "Freud's Formulations" we have Freud's own review of his
life work as he looked back on it just before his death. The
papers on "The Study of the Ego" are all relatively recent,
Reich's being the oldest. This is the first formulation of a tech-
nique for understanding ego defenses. Under "Anxiety" we
have included two contemporary writers who together cover
the writings on the subject, stressing Freud's second theory of
anxiety, the foundation on which later theories have been
developed.
The most comprehensive and classical work on the interpre-
tation of Freud's famous book, written in the 1890's.
dreams is

Ella Sharpe presents the present standard Freudian view but

Jung's contribution has seemed to the editors also noteworthy.
The papers on "Childhood" are all of very recent origin. Anna
Freud was one of the first contributors in this field, as was
Melanie Klein. Their contributions have influenced the writers
represented,
"The Study of Character" is in a sense but an extension of
'The Study of Ego." Under this heading are presented conclusions
drawn from clinical material while the earlier topic considered
theories about the structure and function of the ego. The first
paper in this section goes back to 1908, presenting Freud's first
formulation of the subject. Adler's contribution as well as Abra-
ham's also antedates the modern era of intensive ego psychology.
As I have already pointed out, the goals of psychoanalytic
treatment have varied in the course of seventy years. Under the
topic "Goals" in this book only the modem approach is em-
Introduction xix

phasized since the earlier views on the subject are chiefly of his-
torical interest.
"Transference and Countertransference" presents the two
topics of great interest in psychoanalysis at the present time. The
papers in this section explore these phenomena in their con-
temporary setting, at the same time pointing out their dynamic
roots in the past.

Finally, in "The Psychoanalytic Process" we have attempted

to present papers which will add to the understanding of the

analytic process as a method of therapy.

The tremendous literature of psychoanalysis makes it im-
possible for any one volume to provide a complete and compre-
hensive account of the field. What this volume does present, we
trust, is a coherent selection of contributions which will engage
the interest of the reader and whet his appetite for further ex-
plorations.
 I

THEORY
 Freud's Formulations

The discovery of the essential building stones of psychoanalysis

psychic determinism, the unconscious, the significance of
dreams, the importance of infancy and early childhood in per-
sonalitydevelopment, and the transference and countertrans-
ference phenomena is due to the genius of Sigmund Freud.

These cardinal clinically observable facts are the bases of any

theory of psychoanalysis. They are universally accepted.
The theoretical framework within which Freud has incor-
porated these concepts is the libido theory. Depending on their
interpretation of the term "libido/' this theory has been utilized
by many analysts in many ways; some have continued to accept
it in its original form and have added minor concepts which for

them explain additional observations; others have emphasized

its foundation in nineteenth-century physics and have proposed

theoretical formulations more in accord with the conceptions of

contemporary physics. Still others have objected to the formula-
tion of the instincts as the sole source of energy and have pro-
posed another source, namely the ego.
Influenced by research in sociology and anthropology, some
workers have abandoned the libido concept entirely and have
attempted to formulate systems which can be tested operationally.
The first presentation is taken from the last book written by
Freud these chapters give a concise and readable statement of
the libido theory, a definition of the term "sexual," and his ap-
proach to mental phenomena.
 1

SIGMUND FREUD
The Theory of the Instincts*

The power of the id expresses the true purpose of the individual

organism's life.This consists in the satisfaction of its innate
needs. No such purpose as that of keeping itself alive or of pro-
tecting itself from dangers by means of anxiety can be attributed
to the id. That is the business of the ego, which is also concerned
with discovering the most favorable and least perilous method
of obtaining satisfaction, taking the external world into account.
The superego may bring fresh needs to the fore, but its chief
function remains the limitation of satisfactions.
(The forces which we assume to exist behind the tensions
caused by the needs of the id are called instincts'Jlhey represent
the somatic demands upon mental life. Though they are the
ultimate cause of all activity, they are by nature conservative;
the state, whatever it may be, which a living thing has reached,
gives rise to a tendency to re-establish that state so soon as it has
been abandoned. It is possible to distinguish an indeterminate
number of instincts and in common practice this is in fact done.
For us, however, the important question arises whether we may
not be able to derive all of these various instincts from a few
fundamental ones.We have found that instincts can change their
aim (by displacement) and also that they can replace one an-
other the energy of one instinct passing over to another. This
latter process is still insufficiently understood. After long doubts
*
Reprinted trom An Outline of Psychoanalysis by Sigrmmd Freud, by per-
mission of W. W, Norton & Company, Inc. and The Hogarth Press, Ltd.
Copyright 1949 by W. W. Norton & Company, lac. Translated by James
Strachey.
5
6 Sigmund Freud
and vacillations we have decided to assume the existence of only
two basic instincts, Eros and the destructive Instinct, (The con-
trast between the instincts of self-preservation and of the preser-
vation of the species, as well as the contrast between ego-love
and object-love, fall within the bounds of Eros.) The aim of the
first of these basic instincts is to establish ever greater unities
and to preserve them thus in short, to bind together; the aim
Df the second, on the contrary, is to undo connections and so
to destroy things. We may suppose that the final aim of the
destructive instinct is to reduce living things to an inorganic state.
For this reason we also call it the death instinct. If we suppose
that living things appeared later than inanimate ones and arose
out of them, then the death instinct agrees with the formula
that we have stated, to the effect that instincts tend toward a
return to an earlier state. We
are unable to apply the formula
to Eros (the love instinct). That would be to imply that living
substance had once been a unity but had subsequently been torn
apart and was now tending toward re-union.
1

In biological functions the two basic instincts work against

each other or combine with each other. Thus, the act of eating
is a destruction of the object with the final aim of
incorporating
it, and the sexual act is an act of aggression having as its purpose

the most intimate union. This interaction of the two basic

instincts with and against each other gives rise to the whole

variegation of the phenomena of life. The analogy of our two

basic instincts extends from the region of animate things to the
pair of opposing forces attraction and repulsion which rule
in the inorganic world. 2
Modifications in the proportions of the fusion between the
instincts have the most noticeable results. A
surplus of sexual
aggressiveness will change a lover into a sexual murderer, while
a sharp diminution w. the .aggressive factor will lead to shyness
or impotence.
There can be no question of reainccicg C0e or the other of the
1
Something of the sort has been imagined by poets, but niching like it is
known to us from the actual history of living substance.
a
This picture of the basic forces or instincts, which still arouses much
opposition among analysts, was already a familiar one to the philosopher
Enipedocles of Acragas.
The Theory of the Instincts 7

basic instincts to a single region of the mind. They are neces-

sarily present everywhere. We may
picture an initial state of
thingsby supposing that the whole available energy of Eros, to
which we shall henceforward give the name of libido, is present
in the as yet undifferentiated ego-id and serves to neutralize the
destructive impulses which are simultaneously present. (There
is no term analogous to "libido" for describing the energy of

the destructive instinct.) It becomes relatively easy for us to

follow the later vicissitudes of the libido; but this is more
difficult with the destructive instinct.
So longas that instinct operates internally, as a death instinct,
it remains silent; we only come across it after it has become
diverted outward as an instinct of destruction. That that diversion
should occur seems essential for the preservation of the indi-
vidual; the musculature is employed for the purpose. When the
superego begins to be formed, considerable amounts of the
aggressive instinct become fixated within the ego and operate
there in a self-destructive fashion. This is one of the dangers to
health to whichmankind become subject on the path to cultural

development. The holding back of aggressiveness is in general

unhealthy and leads to illness; A

person in a fit of rage often
demonstrates how the transition from restrained aggressiveness
to self-destructiveness is effected, by turning his aggressiveness

against himself: he tears his hair or beats his face with his fists
treatment which he would evidently have preferred to apply to
someone else. Some portion of self-destructiveness remains per-
manently within, until it at length succeeds in doing the individual
to death, not, perhaps, until his libido has been used up or has
become fixated in some disadvantageous way. Thus it may in

general be suspected that the individual dies of his internal con-

but that the species dies of its unsuccessful struggle against
flicts

the external world, when the latter undergoes changes of a

kind that cannot be dealt with by the adaptations which the
species has acquired.
It is difficult to say anything of the behavior of the libido in

the id and in the superego. Everything that we know about it

relates to the ego, in which the whole available amount of libido
is at first stored up. We call this state of things absolute, primary
8 Sigmund Freud
narcissism. It continues until the ego begins to cathect8 the pres-
entations of objects with libido to change narcissistic libido
into object libido. Throughout life the ego remains the great
reservoir from which libidinal cathexes 3 are sent out on to
objects and into which they are also once more withdrawn, like
the pseudopodia of a body of protoplasm. It is only when some-
one completely in love that the main quantity of libido is
is

transferred on to the object and the object to some extent takes

the place of the ego. A
characteristic of libido which is important
in life is its mobility, the ease with which it passes from one object
to another. This must be contrasted with the fixation of libido to
particular objects, which often persists through life.
There can be no question that the libido has somatic sources,
that it streams into the ego from various organs and parts of the

body. This is most clearly seen in the case of the portion of the
libido which, from its instinctual aim, is known as sexual excita-
tion. The most prominent of the parts of the body from which this
libido arises by the name of erotogenic zones,
are described
though strictly speaking the whole body is an erotogenic zone.
The greater part of what we know about Eros that is, about its
exponent, the libido has been gained from the study of the
sexual function, which, indeed, in the popular view, if not in our
theory, coincides with Eros. We have been able to form a pic-
ture of the which the sexual impulse, which is destined
way in
to exercise a decisive influence on our life, gradually develops
out of successive contributions from a number of component
instincts, which represent particular erotogenic zones.

3
[The words "cathexis" and "to cathect" are used as renderings of the
German "Besetzung" and "besetzen." These are the terms with which Freud
expresses the idea of psychical energy being lodged in or attaching itself to
mental structures or processes, somewhat 011 the analogy of an electric charge.
Trans.]
SIGMUND FREUD
The Development of the

Sexual Function*

According to the popular view, human sexual life consists essen-

tially in the impulse to bring one's own genitals into contact with
those of someone of the opposite sex. With this are associated,
as accessory phenomena andintroductory acts, kissing this ex-
traneous body, looking at and touching it. This impulse is sup-
posed to make its appearance at puberty, that is, at the age of
sexual maturity, and to serve the purposes of reproduction.
Nevertheless, certain facts have always been known that fail to
fit into the narrow framework of this view. ( 1 ) It is a remarkable

fact that there are people who are only attracted by the persons
and genitals of members of their own sex. (2) It is equally re-
markable that there are people whose desires behave in every way
like sexual ones, but who at the same time entirely disregard the
sexual organs or their normal use; people of this kind are known
as "perverts." (3) And finally it is striking that many children
(who are on that account regarded as degenerates) take a very
early interest in their genitals and show signs of excitation in
them.
It may well be believed that psychoanalysis provoked astonish-
ment and denials when, partly upon the basis of these three

neglected facts, it contradicted all the popular opinions upon

sexuality. Its principal findings are as follows:
* An
Reprinted from Outline of Psychoanalysis by Sigmund Freud, by per-
mission of W. W.Norton & Company, Inc. and The Hogarth Press, Ltd-
Copyright 1949 by W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.
9
IQ Sigmund fraud

(a) Sexual life does not begin only at puberty,

but starts with
clear manifestations soon after birth.
It is necessary to distinguish sharply between the concepts
(Z>)
of "sexual" and "genital." The former is the wider concept and
includes many activities that have nothing to do with the genitals.
(c) Sexual life comprises the function of obtaining pleasure
from zones of the body a function which is subsequently
brought into the service of that of reproduction. The two func-
tions often fail to coincide completely.
The chief interest is naturally focused upon the first of these
assertions, the most unexpected of all. It has been found that
in early childhood there are signs of bodily activity to which only
ancient prejudice could deny the name of sexual, and which are
connected with mental phenomena that we come across later in
adult love, such as fixation to a particular object, jealousy, and
so on. It is further found that these phenomena which emerge

in early childhood form part of a regular process of development,

that they undergo a steady increase and reach a climax toward
the end of the fifth year, after which there follows a lull. During
this lull, progress is at a standstill and much is unlearned and
undone. After the end of this period of latency, as it is called,
sexual life is resumed with puberty, or, as we might say, it has
a second efflorescence. Here we come upon the fact that the onset
of sexual life is diphasic, that it occurs in two waves; this is
unknown except in man and evidently has an important bearing
upon his genesis. 1 It is not a matter of indifference that, with
few exceptions, the events of the early period of sexuality fall a

victim to infantile amnesia. Our understanding of the etiology

of the neuroses and the technique of analytic therapy are derived
from these views; and the tracing of the process of development
in this early period has also provided evidence for yet other con-
clusions.

x
Cf. the hypothesis that man is descended from a mammal which reached
sexual maturity at the age of five, but that some great external influence was
brought to bear upon the species and interrupted the straight line of de-
velopment of sexuality. This may also have been related to some other trans-
formations in the sexual life of man as compared with that of animals, such
as the suppression of the periodicity of the libido and the exploitation of the
part played by menstruation in the relation between the sexes.
The Development of the Sexual Function 11

The first organ to make Its appearance as an erotogenic zone

and to make libidinal demands upon the mind is, from the time
of birth onward, the mouth. To begin with, all mental activity
is centered upon the task of providing satisfaction for the needs

of that zone. In the first instance, of course, the latter serves the
purposes of self-preservation by means of nourishment; but physi-
ology should not be confused with psychology. The baby's ob-
stinate persistence in sucking gives evidence at an early stage
of a need for satisfaction which, although it originates from and
is stimulated by the taking of nourishment, nevertheless seeks to

obtain pleasure independently of nourishment and for that reason

may and should be described as "sexual."
Sadistic impulses already begin to occur sporadically during
the oral phase along with the appearance of the teeth. Their
extent increases greatly during the second phase, which we
describe as the sadistic-anal phase, because satisfaction is then
sought in aggression and in the excretory function. We justify
our inclusion of aggressive impulses in the libido by supposing
that sadism is an instinctual fusion of purely libidinal and purely
destructive impulses, a fusion which thenceforward persists with-
out interruption. 2
The third phase is the so-called phallic one, which is, as it were,
a forerunner of the final shape of sexual life, and already greatly
resembles it. It is to be noted that what comes in question at
this stage is not the genitals of both sexes but only those of the
male (the phallus). The female genitals long remain unknown:
in the child's attempt at understanding sexual processes, he pays
homage to the venerable cloacal theory a theory which has a
3
genetic justification.
With the phallic phase and in the course of it the sexuality of
early childhood reaches its height and approaches its decline.

9
The question arises whether satisfaction of purely destructive instinctual
impulses can be felt as pleasure, whether pure destructiveness without any
libidinal component occurs. Satisfaction of what remains in the ego of the
death instinct seems not to produce feelings of pleasure, although masochism
represents a fusion which is precisely analogous to sadism.
3
The occurrence of early vaginal excitations is often asserted. But it is
most probably a question of excitations in the clitoris, that is, in an organ
analogous to the penis, so that this fact would not preclude us from describing
the phase as phallic.
12 Sigmund Freud

Thenceforward boys and girls have different histories. To begin

with, both place their intellectual activity at the service of sexual
research; both start off from the presumption of the
universal

presence of the penis. But now the paths of

the sexes divide.
The boy enters the CEdipus phase; he begins to manipulate his
penis, and simultaneously has phantasies
of carrying out some
sort of activity with it in relation to his mother; but at last, owing
to the combined effect of a threat of castration and the spectacle
of women's lack of a penis, he experiences the greatest trauma
of his life, and this introduces the period of latency with all its
attendant consequences. The girl, after vainly attempting to do
the same as the boy, conies to recognize her lack of a penis or
rather the inferiority of her clitoris, with permanent effects upon
the development of her character; and, as a result of this first
turns away altogether from
disappointment in rivalry, she often
sexual life.

would be a mistake to suppose that these three phases suc-

It

ceed one another in a clear-cut fashion: one of them may appear

in addition to another, they may overlap one another, they may
be present simultaneously.
In the earlier phases the separate component instincts set about
their pursuit of pleasure independently of one another; in the
first signs of an organization which
phallic phase there are the
subordinates the other trends to the primacy of the genitals and
signifies the beginning of a co-ordination of the general pursuit
of pleasure into the sexual function. The complete organization
is not attained until puberty, in a fourth, or genital, phase. state A
of affairs is then established in which (1) many earlier libidinal
cathexes are retained, (2) others are included in the sexual func-
tion as preparatory or auxiliary acts, their satisfaction producing
what is known as fore-pleasure, and (3) other tendencies are
excluded from the organization, and are either entirely suppressed
(repressed) or are employed in the ego in some
other way, form-

ing character-traits or undergoing sublimation with a displace-

ment of their aims.
This process is not always carried out perfectly. Inhibitions ir*
the course of its development manifest themselves as the variou*
disturbances of sexual life. Fixations of the libido to conditions at
The Development of the Sexual Function 13

earlier phases are then found, the trend of which, moving inde-

pendently of the normal sexual aim, is described as perversion.

One example of an inhibition in development of this kind is
homosexuality, if it is manifest. Analysis shows that in every case
a homosexual attachment to an object has at one time been
present and in most cases has persisted in a latent condition.
The situation is complicated by the fact that the processes neces-
sary for bringing about a normal outcome are not for the most
part either completely present or completely absent; they are as
a rule partially present, so that the final result remains dependent
upon quantitative relations. Thus genital organization will be
attained, but will be weakened in respect of those portions of
the libido which have not proceeded so far but have remained
fixated to pregenital objects and aims. Such weakening shows
itself in a tendency, if there is an absence of genital satisfaction
or there are difficulties in the real world, for the libido to
if

return to its earlier pregenital cathexes (i.e. to regress).

During the study of the sexual functions it has been possible
to gain a first, preliminary conviction, or rather suspicion, of two
pieces of knowledge which will later be found to be important
over the whole of our field. Firstly, the normal and abnormal
phenomena that we observe (that is, the phenomenology of the

subject) require to be described from the point of view of dynam-

ics and of economics (i.e., in this connection, from the point of

view of the quantitative distribution of the libido). And secondly,

the etiology of the disturbances which we are studying is to be
found in the developmental history of the individual, that is to

say, in the early part of his life.

SIGMUND FREUD

Mental Qualities*

We have described the structure of the psychical apparatus and

the energies or forces which are active in it, and we have followed
in a striking example the way in which those energies (and
into a physiological
principally the libido) organize themselves
function which serves the purpose of the preservation of the
species. There was nothing in all
this to exemplify the quite
of course, from the
peculiar character of what is mental, apart,
empirical fact that this apparatus and these energies underlie the
functions which we call our mental life. We will now turn to
something which is a unique characteristic of what is mental, and
which, in fact, according to a widely held opinion, actually coin-
cides with it to the exclusion of all else.
The starting point for this investigation is provided by a fact
without parallel, which defies all explanation or description the
fact of consciousness. Nevertheless, if anyone speaks of con-

sciousness, we know immediately and from our own most per-

1
sonal experience what is meant by it. Many people, both inside
and outside the science of psychology, are satisfied with the
assumption that consciousness alone is mental, and nothing then
remains for psychology but to discriminate in the phenomenology
of the mind between perceptions, feelings, intellective processes

* An
Reprinted from Outline of Psychoanalysis by Sigmund Freud, by per-
mission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. and The Hogarth Press, Ltd.
Copyright 1949 by W. \V. Norton & Company, Inc.
1
Extreme lines of thought, such as the American doctrine of behaviorism,
think it possible to construct a psychology which disregards this fundamental
fact.

14
Mental Qualities 15

and volitions. It is generally agreed, however, that these con-

scious processes do not form unbroken series which are com-
plete in themselves; so that there is no alternative to assuming
that there are physical or somatic processes which accompany the
mental ones and which must admittedly be more complete than
the mental series, since some of them have conscious processes
parallel to them but others have not. It thus seems natural to lay
the stress in psychology upon these somatic processes, to see in
them the true essence of what is mental and to try to arrive at
some other assessment of the conscious processes. The majority
of philosophers, however, as well as many other people, dispute
this position and declare that the notion of a mental thing being
unconscious is self-contradictory.

But it is precisely this that psychoanalysis is obliged to assert,

and this is second fundamental hypothesis. It explains the
its

supposed somatic accessory processes as being what is essentially

mental and disregards for the moment the quality of conscious-
ness. It does not stand alone in this opinion. Many thinkers (such
as Theodor Lipps, for instance) have made the same assertion
m the same words. And the general dissatisfaction with the usual
view of what is mental has resulted in an ever more urgent de-
mand for the inclusion in psychological thought of a concept
of the unconscious, though the demand has been of such an
indefinite and vague nature that it could have no influence upon
science.
Now it might appear as though this dispute between psycho-

analysis and philosophy was only concerned with a trifling matter

of definition the question whether the name "mental" should
be applied to one or another series of phenomena. Actually, how-
ever, this step has been of the greatest importance. Whereas
the psychology of consciousness never went beyond this broken
sequence of events which was obviously dependent upon some*
thing else, the other view, which held that what is mental is in
itself unconscious, enabled psychology to take its place as a

natural science like any other. The processes with which it is

concerned are in themselves just as unknowable as those dealt
with by the other sciences, by chemistry or physics, for example;
but it is possible to establish the laws which those processes
 16 Sigmund Freud

obey and to follow over long and unbroken stretches their mu-
tual relations and interdependences in short, to gain what is
known as an "understanding" of the sphere of natural phenomena
in question. This cannot be effected without framing fresh hy-

potheses and creating fresh concepts; but these are not to be

despised as evidence of our embarrassment but must on the con-
trary be valued as enriching science. We can claim for them the
same value as approximations as belongs to the corresponding
intellectual scaffolding found in other natural sciences, and we
look forward to their being modified, corrected and more pre-
ciselydetermined as more experience is accumulated and sifted.
So too it will be entirely in accordance with our expectations if
the basic concepts and principles of the new science (instinct,
nervous energy, etc.) remain for a considerable time no less
indeterminate than those of the older sciences (force, mass,
attraction, etc.).
Every science is based upon observations and experiences
arrived at through the medium of our psychical apparatus. But
since our science has as its subject that apparatus itself, the
analogy ends here. We makeour observations through the
medium of the same perceptual apparatus, precisely by the help
of the breaks in the series of [conscious] mental events, since we
fill in the omissions by plausible inferences and translate them
way we construct, as it were, a
into conscious material. In this
seriesof conscious events complementary to the unconscious
mental processes. The relative certainty of our mental science
rests upon the binding force of these inferences. Anyone who

goes deeply into the subject will find that our technique holds its
ground against every criticism.
In the course of our work the distinctions which we denote
as mental qualities force themselves on our attention. There is no
need to characterize what we call conscious: it is the same as the
consciousness of philosophers and of everyday opinion*
Every-
thing else that is mental is in our view unconscious. We
are soon
led to make an important division in this unconscious. Some proc-
esses become conscious easily; they may then cease to be con-
scious, but can become conscious once more without any trouble;
as people say, they can be reproduced or remembered. This re-
Mental Qualities 17

minds us that consciousness is in general a very highly fugitive

condition. What is conscious is conscious only for a moment. If
our perceptions do not confirm this, the contradiction is merely
an apparent one. It is explained by the fact that the stimuli of
perception can persist for some time, so that in the course of it
the perception of them can be repeated. The whole position can
be clearly seen from the conscious perception of our intellective
processes; it is may persist, but they may just as
true that these
easily pass in a flash.Everything unconscious that behaves in
this way, that can easily exchange the unconscious condition
for the conscious one, is therefore better described as "capable
of entering consciousness," or as preconscious. Experience has
taught us that there are hardly any mental processes, even of
the most complicated kind, which cannot on occasion remain pre-
conscious, although as a rule they press forward, as we say, into
consciousness. There are other mental processes or mental mate-
rial which have no such easy access to consciousness, but which
must be inferred, discovered, and translated into conscious form
in the manner that has been described. It is for such material that
we reserve the name of the unconscious proper.
Thus we have attributed three qualities to mental processes:

they are either conscious, preconscious, or unconscious. The di-

vision between the three classes of material which have these

qualitiesis neither absolute nor permanent. What is preconscious

becomes conscious, as we have seen, without any activity on our

part; what is unconscious can, as a result of our efforts, be made
conscious, though in the process we may have an impression that
we are overcoming what are often very strong resistances. When
we make an attempt of this kind upon someone else, we ought
not to forget that the conscious filling up of the breaks in his
perceptions the construction which we are offering him does
not so far mean that we have made conscious in him the un-
conscious material in question. All that is so far true is that the
material is present in his mind in two versions, first in the con-
scious reconstruction that he has just received and secondly in
its original unconscious condition. By persistent efforts we usu-
ally succeed in bringing it about that this unconscious material
too becomes conscious to him, as a result of which the two ver-
 18 Sigmund Freud
sions come to coincide, The amount of effort needed, by which
we estimate the resistance against the material becoming con-
scious, varies in magnitude in each individual case. For instance,
what comes about in an analytic treatment as the result of our
can also occur spontaneously: material which is ordinarily
efforts
unconscious can transform itself into preconscious and then into
conscious material a thing that happens upon a large scale in
psychotic states. From this we may infer that the maintenance
is a sine qua non of normality.
of certain internal resistances A
lowering of resistances of this sort, with a consequent pressing
forward of unconscious material, takes place regularly in the
state of sleep and thus brings about a necessary precondition for
the formation of dreams. On the other hand, preconscious mate-
rial can become temporarily inaccessible and cut off by resist-
ances, as on occasions of passing forgetfulness, or a preconscious
thought can actually be temporarily pushed back into the uncon-
scious condition, as seems to be necessary in the case of jokes.
We shall see that a similar reversion of preconscious material or
processes to the unconscious condition plays a great part in the
causation of neurotic disorders.
The theory of the three qualities of mental events, as described
in this generalized and simplified manner, seems likely to be a
source of endless confusion rather than a help to clarification. But
it must not be forgotten that it is properly not a theory at all, but

a first attempt at a stock-taking of the facts of our observation,

that it keeps as close as possible to those facts and does not seek
to explain them. The complications which it reveals may bring
which our investigation
into relief the peculiar difficulties with
has to contend. It however that we shall learn more
seems likely
about the subject if we follow out the relations between the
mental qualities and the provinces or agencies which we have
postulated in the mental apparatus though these relations too
are far from being simple.
The process of a thing becoming conscious is above all linked
with the perceptions which our sense organs receive from the
external world. From the topographical point of view, therefore,
it is a phenomenon which occurs in the outermost cortex of the
ego. It is true that we also receive conscious information from
Menial Qualities 19

the inside of the body the feelings, which actually exercise a

more peremptory influence upon our mental life than external
perceptions; moreover., in certain circumstances the sense organs
themselves transmit feelings, sensations of pain, in addition to
the perceptions which are specific to them. Since, however, these
feelings (as we call them, in contrast to conscious perceptions)
also emanate from the terminal organs, and since we regard
all of those organs as prolongations or offshoots of the cortex, it
still possible to maintain the assertion made at the
is
beginning of
thisparagraph. It need only be said by way of distinction that, as
regards the terminal organs of feeling, the body itself takes the
place of the external world.
Conscious processes on the periphery of the ego and every-
thing else in the ego unconscious such would be the simplest
state of affairs that we might picture. And such may in fact be
the conditions prevailing in animals. But in men there is an added
complication owing to which internal processes in the ego may
also acquire the quality of consciousness. This complication is

produced by the function of speech, which brings the material in

the ego into a firm connection with the memory-traces of visual
and more particularly of auditory perceptions. Thenceforward
the perceptual periphery of the cortex of the ego can be stimu-
lated to a much greater extent from inside as well; internal events
such as sequences of ideas and intellective processes can become
conscious; and a special apparatus becomes necessary in order
to distinguish between the two possibilities that is, what is
known as reality -testing. The equation "perception = reality (ex-
ternal world)" no longer holds. Errors, which can now easily
arise and do in fact habitually arise in dreams, are called halluci-'
nations.
The inside of the ego, which comprises above all the intellective
processes, has the quality of being preconscious. This is charac-
teristic of the ego and belongs to it alone. It would not be right,

however, to assert that a connection with the memory-traces of

speech is a prerequisite of the preconscious condition. On the
contrary, that condition does not depend upon any such pre-
requisite, although the presence of speech gives a safe clue to
the preconscious nature of a process. The preconscious condition,
20 Sigmund Freud

which characterized on the one hand by having access to con-

is

sciousness and on the other hand by being linked with the verbal
residues, is nevertheless something peculiar, the nature
of which
is not exhausted by these two characteristics. The proof of this is
that large portions of the ego, and in particular of the superego,
which cannot be denied the characteristic of being preconscious,
none the less remain for the most part unconscious in the phe-
nornenological sense of the word. We do not know why
this must

be so. We shall attempt later on to attack the problem of the

true nature of the preconscious.
The sole quality that rules in the id is that of being uncon-

scious. Id and unconscious are as intimately united as ego and

is even more exclu-
preconscious; indeed, the former connection
sive. If we look back at the developmental history of the individ-
ual and of his psychical apparatus, we shall be able to make an
important distinction in the id. Originally, of course, everything
was id; the ego was developed out of the id by the continual influ-
ence of the external world. In the course of this slow develop-
ment certain material in the id was transformed into the precon-
scious condition and was thus taken into the ego. Other material
remained unaltered in the id, as its hardly accessible nucleus. But
during development the young and feeble ego dropped and
this

pushed back into the unconscious condition certain material

which it had already taken in, and behaved similarly in regard
to many new impressions which it might have taken in, so that
these were rejected and were able to leave traces in the id only.

In consideration of its origin, we term this portion of the id the

repressed. It is of little importance that we are not always able

to draw a sharp distinction between these two categories of
material in the id. They coincide approximately with the division
between what was originally present and what was acquired
during the development of the ego.
Having now decided upon the topographical division of the
mental apparatus into an ego and an id, with which the difference
in quality between preconscious and unconscious runs parallel,
and having agreed that this quality is only an indication of the
distinction and does not constitute its essence, we are faced by a
further question. What is the true nature of the condition whick
Mental Qualities 21

is disclosed in the case of the id by the quality of being uncon-

scious and in the case of the ego by that of being preconscious,

and in what does the distinction between them consist?
But of this we know nothing; and the profound obscurity of
our ignorance is scarcely illuminated by a glimmer or two of light
For here we have approached the still shrouded secret of the
nature of what is mental. We assume, as the other natural
sciences have taught us to expect, that in mental life some kind
of energy is at work; but we have no data which enable us to
come nearer to a knowledge of it by an analogy with other forms
of energy. We seem to recognize that nervous or psychical energy
exists in two forms, one freely mobile and the other, by contrast,

bound; we speak of cathexes and hypercathexes of the material

of the mind and even venture to suppose that a hypercathexis
brings about a sort of synthesis of different processes a synthesis
in the course of which free energy is transformed into bound

energy. Further than this we have been unable to go. Neverthe-

less,we hold firmly to the view that the distinction between the
unconscious and the preconscious condition alsolies in dynamic

same kind, which would explain how it is that,

relations of this
whether spontaneously or with our assistance, the one can be
changed into the other.
But behind all of these uncertainties there lies one new fact, the
discovery of which we owe to psychoanalytic research. We have
learned that processes in the unconscious or in the id obey differ-
ent laws from those in the preconscious ego. We name these laws
in their totality the primary process, in contrast to the secondary
process which regulates events in the preconscious or ego. Thus
the study of mental qualities has after all proved not unfruitful
in the end.
 The Study of the
Ego
The first great clinical and theoretical advances in psychoanalysis
were in the study of the "id" the area that interested Freud pri-
marily. It remains a tribute to his genius that the libidinal factors
and their vicissitudes have been so thoroughly studied.
Both Glover and Alexander were among the first to describe
neuroses in terms of character traits rather than symptoms and
applied the term character neuroses to them. At the same time,
itwas realized that when psychoanalysis limited itself to making
unconscious phenomena conscious it was a very inadequate thera-
peutic instrument.
As an inevitable development from Freud's work, the ego
properly became the major field of study for analysts. Wllhelm
Reich was the first to describe the importance of the defensive
aspects of the ego in any systematic approach to therapy, while
Anna Freud has added the same concepts to the theoretical
framework of psychoanalysis. The study of the ego has remained
a major preoccupation of many psychoanalysts. Hartmann, Kris,
and Loewenstein are among the more notable contributors. Hart-
mann and Silverberg have suggested that the ego is autonomous
as well as being dependent on the id and French has in addition
emphasized its integrative function.
Whatever the present state of the psychoanalytic theory of the
ego, it is a pragmatic fact that analyses make progress only inso-
far as they clarify the defenses and resistances of the ego.
WILHELM REICH
On the Technique of Character-
Analysis*

1. Introductory Review

Our therapeutic method is determined by the following basic

theoretical concepts. The topical standpoint determines the tech-
nical principle that the unconscious has to be made conscious.
The dynamic standpoint determines the rule that this has to take
place not directly but by way of resistance analysis. The economic
standpoint and the psychological structure determine the rule that
the resistance analysis has to be carried out in a certain order
according to the individual patient.
As long as the topical process, the making conscious of the
unconscious, was considered the only task of analytic technique,
the formula that the unconscious manifestations should be inter-
preted in the sequence in which they appeared was correct. The
dynamics of the analysis, that is, whether or not the making con-
scious also released the corresponding affect, whether the analysis
influenced the patient beyond a merely intellectual understanding,
that was more or less left to chance. The inclusion of the dynamic
element, that is, the demand that the patient should not only
remember things but also experience them, already complicated
the simple formula that one had to "make the unconscious con-
scious." However, the dynamics of the analytic affect do not

depend on the contents but on the resistances which the patient

* X. International Psychoanalytic Congress, Innsbruck,
First presented at the
1927. Reprinted by permission from Character Analysis (3d edition, New
%r
ork, 1949). Copyright, 1949, Orgone Institute Press, Inc.
25
26 Wilhelm Reich

in over-
puts up against them and on the emotional experience
them. This makes the analytic task a vastly different one.
coming
From the standpoint, it is sufficient to bring into the pa-
topical
tient'sconsciousness, one after the other, the manifest elements
of the unconscious; in other words, the guiding line is the con-
tent of the material. If one also considers the dynamic factor one
has to relinquish this guiding line in favor of another which com-
that of
prehends the content of the material as well as the affects:
the successive resistances. In doing so we meet, in most patients,
with a difficulty which we have not yet mentioned.

2. Character Armor and Character Resistance

a) The inability to follow the fundamental rule.

Rarely are our patients immediately accessible to analysis,

capable of following the fundamental rule and of really opening
up to the analyst. They cannot immediately have full confidence
in a strange person; more importantly, years of illness, constant
influencing by a neurotic milieu, bad experiences with physicians,
in brief, the whole secondary warping of the personality have
created a situation unfavorable to analysis. The elimination of
this difficulty would not be so hard were it not supported by the
character of the patient which is part and parcel of his neurosis.
It is which has been termed "narcissistic barrier."
a difficulty
There two ways of meeting this difficulty, in
are, in principle,

especial, the rebellion against the fundamental rule.

One, which seems the usual one, is a direct education to analy-
sis by information, reassurance, admonition, talking-to, etc. That

is, one attempts to educate the patient

to analytic candor by the

establishment of some sort of positive transference. This corre-

sponds to the technique proposed by Nunberg. Experience shows,
however, that this pedagogical method is very uncertain; it lacks
the basis of analytic clarity and is exposed to the constant varia-
tions in the transference situation.
The other way is more complicated and as yet not applicable
in all patient*, but far more certain. It is that of replacing the
On the Technique of Character-Analysis 27

pedagogical measures by analytic interpretations. Instead of in-

ducing the patient into analysis by advice, admonitions and trans-
ference manoeuvres, one focuses one's attention on the actual
behavior of the patient and its meaning: why he doubts> or is late,
or talks in a haughty or confused fashion, or communicates only
every other or third thought, why he criticizes the analysis or pro-
duces exceptionally much material or material from exceptional
depths. If, for example, a patient talks in a haughty manner, in
technical terms, one may try to convince him that this is not good
for the progress of the analysis, that he better give it up and be-
have less haughtily, for the sake of the analysis. Or, one may re-

linquish all attempts at persuasion and wait until one understands

why the patient behaves in this and no other way. One may then
find that his behavior is an attempt to compensate his feeling of

inferioritytoward the analyst and may influence him by consistent

interpretation of the meaning of his behavior. This procedure, in
contrast to the first-mentioned, is in full accord with the principle
of analysis.
This attempt to replace pedagogical and similar active measures
seemingly necessitated by the characteristic behavior of the pa-
tient, by purely analytic interpretations led unexpectedly to the

analysis of the character.

Certain clinical experiences make it necessary to distinguish,
among the various resistances we meet, a certain group as charac-
ter resistances. They get their specific stamp not from their con-
tent but from the patient's specific way of acting and reacting.
The compulsive character develops specifically different resist-
ances than does the hysterical character; the latter different resist-
ances from the impulsive or neurasthenic character. The form of
the typical reactions which differ from character to character
though the contents may be the same is determined by infantile
experiences just like the content of the symptoms or phantasies.

b) Whence the character resistances?

Quite some time ago, Glover worked on the problem of differ-

neuroses. Alexander
entiating character neuroses from symptom
also operated on the basis of this distinction. In my earlier writ-
 28 Wilhelm Reich

logs, I also followed it. More exact comparison of the cases

showed, however, that this distinction makes sense only insofar as
there are neuroses with circumscribed symptoms and others with-
out them; the former were called "symptom neuroses/' the latter,
"character neuroses." In the former, understandably, the symp-
toms are more obvious, in the latter the neurotic character traits.
But, we must ask, are there symptoms without a neurotic reaction
basis, in other words, without a neurotic character? The differ-
ence between the character neuroses and the symptom neuroses
is only that in the latter the neurotic character also produced
symptoms, that it became concentrated in them, as it were. If one

recognizes the fact that the basis of a symptom neurosis is always

a neurotic character, then it is clear that we shall have to deal
with character-neurotic resistances in. every analysis, that every
analysismust be a character-analysis.
Another distinction which becomes immaterial from the stand-
point of character-analysis is that between chronic neuroses, that
is, neuroses which developed in childhood, and acute neuroses,

which developed late. For the important thing is not whether the
symptoms have made their appearance early or late. The impor-
tant thing is that the neurotic character, the reaction basis for
the symptom neurosis, was, in its essential traits, already formed
at theperiod of the Oedipus phase. It is an old clinical experience
that the boundary line which the patient draws between health
and the outbreak of the disease becomes always obliterated during
the analysis.
Since symptom formation does not serve as a distinguishing
criterion we shall have to look for others. There is, first of all, in-

sight into illness, and rationalization.

The lack of insight into illness is not an absolutely reliable but
an essential sign of the character neurosis. The neurotic symptom
is experienced as a foreign
body and creates a feeling of being ill.
The neurotic character trait, on the other hand, such as the ex-
aggerated orderliness of the compulsive character or the anxious
shyness of the hysterical character, are organically built into the
personality. One may complain about being shy but does not feel
illfor this reason. It not until the characteroiogical shyness
is

*uras into pathological blushing or the compulsion-neurotic order-

On the Technique of Character-Analysis 29

liness into a compulsive ceremonial, that is, not until the neurotic
character exacerbates symptomatically, that the person feels ill.
True enough, there are also symptoms for which there is no
or only slight insight, things that are taken by the patient as bad
habits or just peculiarities (chronic constipation, mild ejaculatio
praecox, etc.). On the other hand, many character traits are often
felt as illness, such as violent outbreaks of rage, tendency to lie,

drink, waste money, In spite of this, generally speaking, in-

etc.

sight characterizes the neurotic symptom and its lack the neurotic
character trait.
The second difference is that the symptom is never as thor-
oughly rationalized as the character. Neither a hysterical vomiting
nor compulsive counting can be rationalized. The symptom ap-
pears meaningless, while the neurotic character is sufficiently ra-
tionalized not to appear meaningless or pathological. reason A
is often given for neurotic character traits which would imme-

diately be rejected as absurd if it were given for symptoms: "he

just is thatway." That implies that the individual was born that
way, that this "happens to be" his character. Analysis shows this
interpretation to be wrong; it shows that the character, for definite
reasons, had to become way and no different; that, in princi-
that
ple, it can be analyzed symptom and is alterable.
like the

Occasionally, symptoms become part of the personality to such

an extent that they resemble character traits. For example, a
counting compulsion may appear only as part of general order-
liness or a compulsive system only in terms of a compulsive work

arrangement. Such modes of behavior are then considered as pe-

culiarities rather than as signs of illness. So we can readily see that
the concept of disease is an entirely fluid one, that there are all
kinds of transitions from the symptom as an isolated foreign body
over the neurotic character and the "bad habit" to rational action.
In comparison to the character trait, the symptom has a very
simple construction with regard to its meaning and origin. True,
the symptom also has a multiple determination; but the more
deeply we penetrate into its determinations, the more we leave the
realm of symptoms and the clearer becomes the characterological
reaction basis. Thus one can arrive theoretically at the charac-

terological reaction basis from any symptom. The symptom has its
30 Wilhelm Reich

immediate determination in only a limited number of unconscious

attitudes; hysterical vomiting, say, Is based
on a repressed fellatio
child. Either expresses itself also
phantasy or an oral wish for a
characterologically, in a certain infantilism
and maternal attitude.
But the hysterical character which forms the basis of the symptom
determined by many partly antagonistic strivings and is
ex-
is
or way of being. This is not as easy to
pressed in a specific attitude
nevertheless, in principle itis, like the
dissect as the symptom;
from infantile striv-
symptom, to be reduced to and understood
ings and experiences. While the symptom corresponds essentially
the
to a single experience or striving, the character represents
of of an individual, an expression of his total
specific way being
past. For this reason, a symptom develop suddenly while
may
each individual character trait takes years to develop. In saying
also could
this we should not forget the fact that the symptom
have unless its characterological neurotic
not developed suddenly
reaction basis had already been present.
The totality of the neurotic
character traits makes itself felt

compact defense mechanism against our thera-

in the analysis as a
peutic endeavors. Analytic exploration of the development of this
character "armor" shows that it also serves a definite economic
as a protection against the
purpose: on the one hand, it serves
stimuli from the outer world, on the other hand against the
inner

libidinous strivings. The character armor can perform this task

because libidinous and sadistic energies are consumed in the neu-
rotic reaction formations, compensations and other neurotic atti-
tudes. In the processes which form and maintain this armor,
the same way as it is, ac-
anxiety is constantly being bound up, in
cording to Freud's description, in, say, compulsive symptoms. We
shall have to say more later about the economy of character
formation.
Since the neurotic character, in its economic function of a pro-
albeit a neu-
tecting armor, has established a certain equilibrium,
rotic one, the analysis presents a danger to this equilibrium. This
is why which give the analysis of the individual
the resistances
case its specific imprint originate from this narcissistic protection
mechanism. As we have seen, the mode of behavior is the result
of the total development and as such csm be analyzed and altered;
On the Technique of Character-Analysis 31

thus it can also be the starting point for evolving the technique
of character-analysis.

<?) The technique of analyzing the character resistance.

Apart from the dreams, associations, slips and other communi-

cations of the patients, their attitude, that is, the manner in which
they relate their dreams, commit slips, produce their associations
and make their communications, deserves special attention. 1 A
patient who follows the fundamental rule from the beginning is

a rare exception; it months of character-analytic work to

takes
make the patient halfway sufficiently honest in his communica-
tions. The manner in which the patient talks, in which he greets
the analyst or looks at him, the way he lies on the couch, the in-
flection of the voice, the degree of conventional politeness, al!
these things are valuable criteria for judging the latent resistances
against the fundamental rule, and understanding them makes it
possible to alter or eliminate them by interpretation. The how of
saying things is as important "material" for interpretation as is
what the patient says. One often hears analysts complain that the
analysis does not go well, that the patient does not produce any
"material." By that is usually meant the content of associations
and communications. But the manner in which the patient, say,
keeps quiet, or his sterile repetitions, are also "material'* which
can and must be put to use. There is hardly any situation in which
the patient brings "no material"; it is our fault if we are unable
to utilize the patient's behavior as "material."
That the behavior and the form of the communications have
analytic significance is* nothing new. What I am going to talk
about is the fact that these things present an avenue of approach
to the analysis of the character in a very definite and almost per-
fect manner. Past failures with many cases of neurotic characters
have taught us that in these cases the form of the communica-
tions is, at least in the beginning, always more important than

Footnote, 194?: The form of expression is far more important than the
1

ideationaJ content. Today, in penetrating to the decisively important infantile

experiences, we make use of the form of expression exclusively. Not the
ideational contents but the form of expression is what leads us to the biologi-
cal reactions which form the basis of the psychic manifestations.
32 Wilhelm Reich

their content. One only has to remember the latent resistances of

the affect-lame, the "good/' over-polite and ever-correct patients;
those who always present a deceptive positive transference or who
violently and stereotypically ask for love;
those who make a game
of the those who are always "armored," who smile in-
analysis;
wardly about everything and everyone. One could
continue this
enumeration indefinitely; it is easy to see that a great deal of
work will have to be done to master the innumerable
painstaking
individual technical problems.
For the purpose of orientation and of sketching the essential
differences between character-analysis and symptom-analysis, let
us assume two pairs of patients for comparison. Let us assume we
have under treatment at the same time two men suffering from
a passive-feminine, the other a
premature ejaculation; one is

phallic-aggressive character. Also, two women with an eating dis-

turbance; one is a compulsive character, the other a hysteric.
Let us assume further that the premature ejaculation of both
men has the same unconscious meaning: the fear of the paternal
the analysis, both patients, on the
penis in the woman's vagina. In
basis of their castration anxiety which is the basis of the symp-
tom, produce a negative father transference. Both hate the analyst
(the father) because they see in him the enemy
who frustrates
their pleasure; both have the unconscious wish to do away with
him. In this situation, the phallic-sadistic character will ward off
the danger of castration by insults, depreciation and threats,
while the passive-feminine character, in the same case, will be-
come steadily more passive, submissive and friendly. In both pa-
tients,the character has become a resistance: one fends off the
a sub-
danger aggressively, the other tries to avoid it by deceptive
mission. It goes without saying that the character resistance of the
because he works with
passive-feminine patient is more dangerous
hidden means: he produces a wealth of material, he remembers
all kinds of infantile experiences, in short, he seems to cooperate

Actually, however, he camouflages a secret spiteful-

splendidly.
ness and hatred; as long as he maintains this attitude he does not
have the courage to show his real self. If, now, one enters only
to his way of
upon what he produces, without paying attention
condition. He
behavior, then no analytic endeavor will change his
On the Technique of Character-Analysis 33

may even remember the hatred of his father, but he will not ex~
perience unless one interprets consistently the meaning of his
it

deceptive attitude before beginning to interpret the deep meaning

of his hatred of the father.
In the case of the second pair, let us assume that an acute posi-
tive transference has developed. The central content of this posi-
tive transference is, in either patient, the same as that of the
symptom, namely, an oral phantasy. But although the
fellatio

positive transference has the same content in either case, the form
of the transference resistance will be quite different: the hysterical
show an anxious silence and a shy behavior; the
patient will, say,
compulsive character a spiteful silence or a cold, haughty be-
havior. In one case the positive transference is warded off by
aggression, in the other by anxiety. And the form of this defense
will always be the same in the same patient: the hysterical patient
will always defend herself anxiously, the compulsive patient ag-

gressively, no matter what unconscious content is on the point of

breaking through. That is, in one and the same patient, the char-
acter resistance remains always the same and only disappears
with the very roots of the neurosis.
In the character armor, the narcissistic defense finds its con-
crete chronic expression. In addition to the known resistances
which are mobilized against every new piece of unconscious ma-
terial, we have to recognize a constant factor of a formal nature
which originates from the patient's character. Because of this
origin, we call the constant formal resistance factor "character
resistance."
In summary, the most important aspects of the character resist-
ance are the following:
The character resistance expresses itself not in the content of
the material, but in the formal aspects of the general behavior,
the manner of talking, of the gait, facial expression and typical
attitudes such as smiling, deriding, haughtiness, over-correctness,
the manner of thepoliteness or of the aggression, etc.
What specific of the character resistance is not what the pa-
is

tient says or does, but how he talks and acts, not what he gives

away in a dream but how he censors, distorts, etc.

The character resistance remains the same in one and the same
 34 Wilhelm Reich

patient no matter what the material is against which it is directed.

Different characters present the same material in a different man-
ner. For example, a hysteric patient will ward off the positive
father transference in an anxious manner, the compulsive woman
in an aggressive manner.
The character resistance, which expresses itself formally, can
be understood as to its content and can be reduced to infantile
2
experiences and instinctual drives just like the neurotic symptom.
During analysis, the character of a patient soon becomes a re-
sistance. That is, in ordinary life, the character plays the same
role as in analysis: that of a psychic protection mechanism.
The individual is "characterologically armored" against the outer
world and against his unconscious drives.
Study of character formation reveals the fact that the character
armor was formed in infancy for the same reasons and purposes
which the character resistance serves in the analytic situation.
The appearance in the analysis of the character as resistance re-
flects its infantile genesis. The situations which make the charac-
ter resistance appear in the analysis are exact duplicates of those
situations in infancy which set character formation into motion.
For this reason, we find in the character resistance both a defen-
sive function and a transference of infantile relationships with the
outer world.
Economically speaking, the character in ordinary life and the
character resistance in the analysis serve the same function, that
of avoiding unpleasure, of establishing and maintaining a psychic
equilibrium neurotic though it may be and finally, that of ab-
sorbing repressed energies. One of its cardinal functions is that
of binding "free-floating" anxiety, or, in other words, that of ab-
sorbing dammed-up energy. Just as the historical, infantile ele-
ment present and active in the neurotic symptoms, so it is in the
is

character. This is why a consistent dissolving of character resist-

ances provides an infallible and immediate avenue of approach
to the central infantile conflict.
What, then, follows from these facts for the technique of char-

2
By the realization of this fact, the formal element becomes included in
the sphere of psychoanalysis which, hitherto, was centered primarily on the
content.
On the Technique of Character-Analysis 35

acter-analysis? Are there essential differences between character-

analysis and ordinary resistance analysis? There are. They are
related to
a) the selection of the sequence in which the material is

interpreted;
b) the technique of resistance interpretation itself.
As to a) If we speak of "selection of material," we have to ex-
:

pect an important objection: some will say that any selection is

at variance with basic psychoanalytic principles, that one should

let oneself be guided by the patient, that with any kind of selec-

tion one runs the danger of following one's personal inclinations.

To this we have to say that in this kind of selection it is not a
matter of neglecting analytic material; it is merely a matter of
safeguarding a logical sequence of interpretation which corre-
sponds to the structure of the individual neurosis. All the material
is finally interpreted; only, in any given situation this or that
detail more important than another. Incidentally, the analyst
is

always makes selections anyhow, for he has already made a selec-

tion when he does not interpret a dream in the sequence in which
it is presented but selects this or that detail for interpretation. One

also has made a selection if one pays attention only to the con-
tent of the communications but not to their form. In other words,
the very fact that the patient presents material of the most diverse
kinds forces one to make a selection; what matters is only that
one select correctly with regard to the given analytic situation.
In patients who, for character reasons, consistently fail to fol-
low the fundamental rule, and generally where one deals with a
character resistance, one will be forced constantly to lift the char-
acter resistance out of the total material and to dissolve it by the
interpretation of its meaning. That does not mean, of course, that
one neglects the rest of the material; on the contrary, every bit of
material is valuable which gives us information about the mean-
ing and origin of the disturbing character trait; one merely post-
pones the interpretation of what material does not have an imme-
diate connection with the transference resistance until such time
as the character resistance is understood and overcome at least

in its essential features. I have already tried to show (c/. Chap-

ter III) what are the dangers of giving deep-reaching interpre-
 36 Wilhelm Reich

tations in presence of undissolved character resistances.

the
As to b) We
shall now turn to some special problems of char-
:

acter-analytic technique. First of all, we must point out a possible

misunderstanding. We said that character-analysis begins with
the emphasis on and the consistent analysis of the character re-
sistance. It should be well understood that this does not mean
that one asks the patient, say, not to be aggressive, not to de-
ceive, not to talk in a confused manner, etc. Such procedure
would be not only un-analytic but altogether sterile. The fact has
to be emphasized again and again that what is described here as
character-analysis has nothing to do with education, admonition,
trying to make the patient behave differently, etc. In character-
analysis,we ask ourself why the patient deceives, talks in a con-
fused manner, why he is affect-blocked, etc.; we try to arouse the
patient's interest in his character traits in order to be able, with
his help, to explore analytically their origin and meaning. All
we do is to lift the character trait which presents the cardinal
resistance out of the level of the personality and to show the
patient, if possible, the superficial connectionsbetween character
and symptoms; it is left to him whether or not he will utilize his
knowledge for an alteration of his character. In principle, the
procedure is not different from the analysis of a symptom. What
is added in character-analysis is merely that we isolate the char-

acter trait and confront the patient with it repeatedly until he

begins to look at it objectively and to experience it like a painful
symptom; thus, the character trait begins to be experienced as a
foreign body which the patient wants to get rid of.
Surprisingly, this process brings about a change although only
a temporary one in the personality. With progressing character-

analysis, that impulse or trait automatically comes to the fore

which had given rise to the character resistance in the transfer-
ence. To go back to the illustration of the passive-feminine char-
acter: the more the patient achieves an objective attitude toward
his tendency to passive submission, the more aggressive does he
become. This is so because his passive-feminine attitude was es-
sentially a reaction to repressed aggressive impulses. But with the
aggression we also have a return of the infantile castration anxiety
which in infancy had caused the change from aggressive to pas-
On the Technique of Character-Analysis 37

sive-feminine behavior. In this way the analysis of the character

resistance leads directly to the center of the neurosis, the Oedipus
complex.
One should not have any illusions, however. The isolation of
such a character resistance and its analytic working-through
usually takes many months of sustained effort and patient per-
sistence. Once the breakthrough has succeeded, though, the analy-
sis usually proceeds rapidly, with emotionally charged analytical

experiences. If, on the other hand, one neglects such character

resistances and instead simply follows the line of the material, in-
terpreting everything in it, such resistances form a ballast which
it is not impossible to remove. In that case, one gains
difficult if
more and more the impression that every interpretation of
meaning was wasted, that the patient continues to doubt every-
thing or only pretends to accept things, or that he meets every-
thing with an inward smile. If the elimination of these resistances
was not begun right in the beginning, they confront one with an
insuperable obstacle in the later stages of the analysis, at a time
when the most important interpretations of the Oedipus complex
have .already been given.
I have already tried to refute the objection that it is impossible

to tackle resistances before one knows their infantile determina-

tion. The essential thing is first to see through the present-day
meaning of the character resistance; this is usually possible with-
out the infantile material. The needed for the dissolution
latter is
of the resistance. If at first one does no more than to show the
patient the resistance and to interpret its present-day meaning,
then the corresponding infantile material with the aid of which
we can eliminate the resistance soon makes its appearance.
If we put so much emphasis on the analysis of the mode of be-
havior, this does not imply a neglect of the contents. only add We
something that hitherto has been neglected. Experience shows
that the analysis of character resistances has to assume first rank.
This does not mean, of course, that one would only analyze char-
acter resistances up to a certain date and then begin with the in-
terpretation of contents. The two phases resistance analysis and

analysis of early infantile experiences overlap essentially; only

jn the beginning, we have a preponderance of character-analysis,
38 Wilhelm Reich

that is, "education to analysis by analysis," while in the later

stages the emphasis is on the contents and the infantile. This is, of
of the indi-
course, no rigid rule but depends on the attitudes
vidual patient. In one patient, the interpretation of the infantile

material will be earlier, in another later. It is a basic rule,

begun
no
however, not to give any deep-reaching interpretations
matter how clear-cut the material as long as the patient is not
but it seems
ready to assimilate them. Again, this is nothing new,
that differences in analytic technique are largely determined by
what one or the other analyst means by "ready for analytic

We also have to distinguish those contents which

interpretation."
are part and parcel of the character resistance and others which
belong to other spheres of experiencing.
As a rule, the patient
is in the beginning ready to take cognizance of the former,
but not of the latter. Generally speaking, our character-analytic
endeavors are but an attempt to achieve the greatest
nothing
of the analysis and in the
possible security in the introduction
material. This leads us to the im-
interpretation of the infantile

portant task of
studying and systematically describing the vari-
ous forms of characteroiogical transference resistances. If we
understand them, the technique derives automatically from their
structure.

the structure
d) Derivation of the situational technique from
of the character resistance (interpretation technique of
the defense).

We now turn to the problem of how the situational technique

of character-analysis can be derived from the structure of the
character resistance in a patient who develops his resistances
of which is, however, com-
right in the beginning, the structure
pletely unintelligible at first. In some cases the character resist-
ance has a very complicated structure; there are a great many
coexistent and overlapping determinations. There are reasons for
beginning the interpretation work with
one aspect of the resistance
and not with any other. A
consistent and logical interpretation
of the defenses and of the mechanisms of the "armor" leads
conflicts.
directly into the central infantile
ERNEST JONES

The Genesis of the Superego*

In a paper 1 published some twenty years ago I laid stress on

the tentative nature of the contribution I was offering to what
was then an entirely new concept, one of the most important
that Freud ever made. There is no reason for surprise, therefore,
that the experience since gained makes me welcome the op-
portunity for revising some of those tentative conclusions or
extending them in the light of further knowledge. Most of what I
wrote concerning the functions and structure of the superego
still stands, though very much could be added to it, so I propose

to confine myself here to the more obscure problem of its genesis.

There can be no more fascinating problem than this in the
whole of psychology or anthropology, and that for two reasons.
We have good grounds for supposing that to the activity of the

superego we are mainly beholden for the imposing structure of

morality, conscience, ethics, aesthetics, religion in short to the

whole spiritual aspiration of man that sunders him most strik-

ingly from the beast. well-nigh universal belief that man is

The
qualitatively different from other animals in possessing a divine
and immortal soul itself emanates from this source. Anything,
therefore, that can throw light on such a remarkable, and indeed
unique, aspect of humanity must needs prove of
the highest
interest to the student of man and his institutions.

In the second place the superego possesses a further and

* No. 1947 r pp. 3-12.

Reprinted from Samiksa, Vol. I, 1,
1
"The Origin and Structure of Superego," International Journal of
the
Edition of my
Psychoanalysis, 1926. Reprinted as Chapter VII in the Fourth
Papers on Psychoanalysis.
40 Ernest Jones

equally important claim on our interest. There is a darker side

to it. The superego man's foe as well as his friend. It is not
is

only concerned with promoting man's spiritual welfare, but is

also responsible for much of his spiritual distress and even for
the infernal activities that so deface the nature of man and cause
this distress. In the obscure depths of the unconscious the super-

ego plays a vital part in the conflicts and turmoil characteristic

of that region. It is no exaggeration to say that man's mental
life is essentially composed of struggling efforts either to escape
from or to support the claims of the superego. Superficially re-

garded our life appears to consist of a small section concerned

with more or less abstract speculations and reflections and a far
material interests and
larger one concerned with more directly
activities. The subjective element in the former is not very hard

to perceive, although it is often denied. But it is seldom under-

stood that even with the latter subjective, and more usually irra-
tional, elements play a very large part also. Were our reason free
to function it would probably be not very difficult to arrange our

lives and our institutions so as to provide a vast increase of

happiness, achievement and security. But the inexorable claims
of the superego, irrational as they mostly are, are more urgent
than our real interests, which are commonly subordinated to
them. And so we have to suffer.
Before coming closer to our problem it is necessary to be
clear on one or two prelusive matters. The superego has several
conscious derivations, for instance, conscience, ego ideal, etc., but
it itself has to be carefully distinguished from them. Thus the

essential superego is an institution of the unconscious,, so much

so that to make a patient aware of its activities is often an ex-
tremely difficult task.

Then we have to be specially careful when we use the word

"morality/' for it is just with the early genesis of this conception
that we are concerned* The conscience is plainly the guardian of
morality in the fully developed sense of that term; what is so-
cially right (according to the mores) and ethically laudable. Now
the superego is certainly not moral in that sense in extreme cases;

for example, it may even dictate an act of murder as both de-

sirable and commendable and yet it possesses one important

The Genesis of the Superego 41

attribute that closely mimics it. That is the sense of urgent "ought-
u
ness," a categorical imperative. Actually this oughtness" in the;
superego may get attached to attitudes that are either moral or
immoral as
judged by our reason and conscience, although ia.
both cases it is at least as strong and compelling as any corre-
sponding dictate of the conscience. If, therefore, it is to be called;
moral it can only be in an extended-irrational sense of the word-
Furthermore I have been able to trace this pseudo-moral feeling:
of "oughtness" to an earlier stage in development that antedates
any sense of right or wrong, one to which I have given the name
of "prenefarious inhibition." It would seem to be in this dark
region that we have to search for the beginnings of what later
becomes a moral attitude.
A paradox that must be faced is that we are able to describe
the superego only by using two apparently incompatible termi-
nologies, one and the other dynamic. There is an analogy
static,
to this in the dilemma of modern physics which has to describe
its ultimates both as particles and as waves, neither alone being
able to comprehend all the data. Presumably with psychology
as with physics it indicates the imperfection of our knowledge.
On the one hand it seems necessary to describe the
superego as
an object, an introjected object, an entity which can be offered
to the id to love or hate or fear, in place of an external object,

originally a parent. And on the other hand, we know that this

internalized object has no corporeal existence but emanates from
a process of fantasy which is itself the expression of some
instinctual drive: here, therefore, we can describe the superego
only in the dynamic terms of a process, a trend with sexual*,
aggressive or "moral" aims. If it is a thing it is a very living thing*,
full of activity: watching, warning, guarding, threatening, punish-

ing, prohibiting, ordaining, encouraging, and so on.

The attention paid in the last twenty years by a number of
London analysts, notably Melanie Klein, to the processes of in-

trojection and projection in infancy has led to a deeper insight

into the origins of the superego. In the light of this experience
Freud's formulations concerning it now seern to me to call for
an important modification in one respect and important exten-
sions in two others.
42 Ernest Jones

The first of these points relates to Freud's picture of the

superego as the resolution of the oedipus complex. The child,
faced with the hopelessness of his oedipus wishes, both because
of the inexorable privation and because of the fear of punish-
ment, effects a renunciation of them on condition that he per-
manently incorporates something of the parents within himself.
This image of love and dread, derived from both parents, though
more especially from the one of the same sex, then constitutes
the superego, which continues to exercise its function of watch-
ing, threatening and if necessary punishing the ego when there
is any likelihood of its listening to the now forbidden and re-

pressed oedipus wishes of the id. Freud thus termed the superego
the heir of the oedipus complex: its derivative and substitute.
Now if all this refers to the fully developed and finished product,
the superego as it will on the whole remain through life, and also
if one reserves the term superego exclusively to this finished
product, then Freud's formula still stands. But if it means that
nothing of the superego is to be discerned until the oedipus
wishes are renounced according to Freud at about the age of
four or five then the conclusions based on later experience
widely depart from it. It is partly a matter of nomenclature,
though only partly. Freud would restrict the term superego to
what I have called the finished product, and he would attach the

greatest importance
in its genesis to the oedipus conflicts be-
tween the ages of three and five.But he would certainly have also
is some further prehistory both to the oedipus
agreed that there
complex (pregenital difficulties, etc.) and perhaps even to
itself

the anxieties and fear of punishment antedating the classical

oedipus situation and preparing the ground for the guilt attributes
of the superego.
Before taking up the modern modification one is impelled to
make to this formula of Freud I will briefly mention the two
other points alluded to above. One concerns the dating of the
whole matter. We have now much reason to think that both
the oedipus complex itself, with all its characteristic features
(carnal desire for the mother, jealousy and hatred of the father,
fear of castration, etc.) and the superego in a sufficiently de-
veloped form to be clearly recognizable long antedate the period
The Genesis of the Superego 4%

in which Freud envisaged them and reach back certainly t<s the
second, and perhaps even the first, year of life. Secondly, the fear
of punishment and also other sources of anxiety which play such
an essential part in the genesis of the superego do not by any
means all emanate from the oedipus situation itself, but have
still deeper origins. To put it plainly, the boy has other reasons
for anxiety besides the dread of punishment at the hands of his
paternal rival; they spring more directly from the relation to his
mother alone.
As was mentioned above, the reasons for these extensions and
modifications of Freud's formula come from closer study of the
processes of introjection and projection. Thanks mainly to the
work of Melanie Klein, we have become familiar, not merely with
the early age at which they operate, but with the extraordinary
and quite continuous interplay between them at every moment of
the infant's experiences of life. The introjections are what con-
stitute the superego, but and this is a most essential point
they are far from simple incorporations of external realities, but
are to a greater extent incorporations of the infant's projections
as well. Once this point is grasped one understands that the in-
fant's own contribution to its future superego is more important
than those made by the outer world (essentially the parents), a
conclusion to which Freud would perhaps have demurred.
We may now return to Freud's view concerning the relation-
ship of the oedipus complex to the superego. He would un-
doubtedly have agreed that the child's picture of the prohibiting
and threatening parent is an exaggerated or distorted one. Though
fathers may kill or castrate their boy children they very seldom
do: nevertheless every boy feels these eventualities to be likely
ones and is in consequence terrified of them. When, therefore,

Freud says that the superego gains its power of affecting the ego
from its representing reality demands, 2 one certainly has to add
"and unreality demands as well": more accurately, the demands
of psychical reality as well as those of physical reality. In my
opinion these additions made by the child's imagination
to the

picture of the parent are more important

and have a longer

3
Freud: Collected Papers, Vol. II, pp. 251-253.
44 Ernest Jones

and more complicated history than Freud believed likely. And,

as I pointed out many years ago,
3 the earliest fantasies and con-
flicts exercise a decisive importance on the form taken by the
oedipus complex, its course and outcome.
It is, however, agreed on all sides that these additions exist,
so

at once we are presented with the problem of their origin. Rathei

to our surprise we find, to start with that the child has a motive
in magnifying external dangers, i.e., in picturing the parent as

and more dangerous than he or she actually is. The child

stricter
can find in this way relief from its fears of internal dangers,
which are more intolerable and are less assuaged by the reassur-
ance given by the knowledge that the external object (parent)
after all has some love and that there are limits to his anger.
It

achieves this, of course, by the familiar mechanism of projection.

since the child
The matter, however, is not so simple as this,
oscillates in his estimate of internal versus external dangers,
the projected ones. The ex-
especially when the latter includes
ternal become
may so fearsome that the child, evidently
bogey
with the aim of securing better control over it, introjects it (into
its superego). Once inside, however, it again becomes intolerably
for a suit-
dangerous and the child is compelled to look around
able object in the outer world on whom it can once more
process is continually and perhaps
This
it. double end-
project
lessly repeated in the endeavor to procure
some relief from the
that the child has
anxiety. These desperate expedients show
within itself extremely formidable sources of anxiety, for which
the formation of the superego is one attempted mode of salvation.
This defensive function of the superego is the main theme of the

present paper.
Whence come all these fearsome bogies and with them the need
for such desperate defenses? The superego is certainly, among
other things, a cruelly persecuting agency which the ego has good
reason to dread. But, after all, the superego is only in small part
thrust on to the growing child by outer prohibitions and con-
demnations. It is in a larger part its own creation. Why does it

,faave to create such a very unpleasant institution inside itself?

* XXI, p. 457.
Papers on Psychoanalysis, Fourth Edition, Chapter
The Genesis oj the Superego 45

There must be a good reason for its doing so strange a thing. Or,
put moreobjectively, the superego must fulfill some highly im-
portant function of value to compensate for its obvious dis-

advantages.
There can be little doubt that the sense of "oughtness" charac-
teristic of the superego, the source of what later will be a moral
attitude, is derived from an earlier sense of "mustness." Put in
other words, the superego's threat to the ego: "You ought not
to do that and I will punish you if you do" is a replacement of an
earlier: "You must not do that for it is harmful (or dangerous).'*
How is this transformation effected from fear into the earliest
traces of morality, and what is the nature of the fear in question?
The earliest fears of the child are on the material rather than the
spiritual plane: they are fears of damage to its interests (priva-

tion, deprivation, bodily injury, and so on). But in the first year
of life love and the need for love begin to play an increasingly
important part. This brings with it a new possibility, the fear of
losing love by offending or injuring the loved and loving object
partially the mother. And it is this extension of its needs from
the bodily to the spiritual plane that effects the transformation
from mustness to "oughtness." To provoke the risk of castration
is still a non-moral situation: to run the risk of offending the

mother and losing her love becomes a "wrong" thing to do. And
in time, as the relationship with the parents becomes more com-

plex, it becomes quite as important to abstain from doing wrong

things as to avoid doing dangerous ones. Perhaps the most
important region in which this takes place is that of sphincter
control, the earliest "moral" training of the infant and one which
takes place long before, according to Freud, the oedipus complex
is in action, or at all events when it is only in the stage of in-

ception. Ferenczi, with the intuition of genius, spoke of "sphincter

morality," sensing that here was to be found the dawn of moral
attitudes. But he had little comprehension of the rich meanings
the infant can attach to its excretory activities. They are not

simply physical needs, though they derive much of their com-

pulsive nature from this fact, nor simply important components
of the sexual instinct (urethral and anal erotism). They are also
vehicles of aggressive and destructive impulses, and are still
46 Ernest Jones

further connected with the cannibalistic incorporations of the

parents that precede or accompany them. When to soil the bed
signifies to defile, poison or destroy the mother and at the same
time to reveal that one has swallowed and killed the father then
one begins to understand in what weighty terms the nurse's
"normal" training can be conceived.
The superego mayprofitably be regarded both as a barrier
against those forbidden and harmful impulses and also as an
indirect vent for them. Traces of all the sexual components can
be found in its activities even if they are imperfectly desexualized.
The scopophilic impulse reveals itself in the alert watching and
guarding attitude of the superego; the anal -erotic component
reactively in the need for orderliness and most important in the
sense of duty; while the sadistic one is all too obvious in the cruel
torturing the superego can inflict on the ego. The reaction to
the more developed genital impulse is shown later in the moral
condemnation of incest, but besides this is the more positive love
towards the parental substitute (ego ideal, etc.).
We have now traced the superego back to premoral stage, one
which I have previously termed a stage of prenef arious inhibition,
where its main function would seem to be that of a simple barrier
against the id impulses or rather against the intolerable anxiety
that these produce in the ego. At this point it becomes merely
one defense among others, though one with peculiar history. Its
due to its formation through introjection of
special features are
parental objects. We
may inquire further into the nature of the
anxiety in question and of the danger arising from the id im-
pulses. These are problems I have discussed at some length else-
4
where, but I will summarize the main conclusions I have reached
concerning them.
is a separate aggressive instinct in man or not,
Whether there
it certain that the sexual one is, especially in its primordial
is

stage, essentially aggressive in its nature, far more so than psycho-

analysts originally thought. So far as I can judge, there appears to
be no satisfactory evidence of aggression occurring apart from
some libidinal impulse, which would seem to be always the

*
Op. cit.
The Genesis of the Superego 41

starting point. There is good reason to suppose that these aggres-

sive components are felt by the infant to be in themselves harmful
or dangerous, quite directly so and apart from any effects on
either the infant or the loved object. The response to them is

anxiety, and at first what may be called pre-ideational anxiety,

i.e., without any sense of the nature of the danger. It is we who

have to construct from various clues what this danger is. We

know that physiologically and psychologically the result of sus-
tained tension from the absence of relief or gratification leads to
exhaustion. Some parents take advantage of this knowledge to
leave an angry baby alone "to cry itself out," in my opinion a
very harmful procedure at that age. The dread of this total ex-
haustion of the libido I have termed the fear of aphanisis, and
it is in my
opinion the important starting point of the anxiety
against which the superego, as well as other defenses, is insti-
tuted.
 6

WILLIAM V. SILVERBERG

Toward a Theory of Personality

and Neurosis*

Those who read detailed accounts of the trials of criminal cases

are often puzzled and baffled by the rule of evidence which re-
strains a witness from stating conclusions based upon what he
has perceived and confines him to reporting his perceptions only.
The witness is expected to tell what he saw and what he heard,
but his conclusions as to the meanings of these things or as to
the intentions of the persons concerned in his testimony are sub-

ject tobeing ruled out of evidence either by the objection of op-

posing counsel or by the trial judge himself. The layman often
finds such procedure difficult to understand, since all of us are
forever coming to conclusions as to another person's intentions
when we see him act or hear him speak. But, nevertheless, there
is wisdom in this rule of evidence: such conclusions are, after

all, merely the opinions of those who make them and in the final

analysis only the person who acted or spoke can say what his
intentions were. This reasoning, arrived at long ago, does not,
of course, take unconscious mental functioning into account;
but the witness is no more competent to assay the unconscious
motivations of another person than that person himself, and a
psychoanalysis of every person involved in criminal proceedings
whose unconscious intentions are in question would be cumber-
some indeed. Ultimately the jurymen must decide this matter of
*
Reprinted by permission from Childhood Experience and Personal Destiny
(New York, 1952). Copyright, 1952, Springer Publishing Company, Inc.
48
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 49

intentions, and while their conclusions may be just as unfounded

as those of a witness, it is felt that, since somebody must decide,
the defendant's interests are better served by leaving such de-
cisions to the unanimous opinion of twelve people, supposedly

personally disinterested, than to the perhaps biased opinion of

one witness. The point here is that it is a precarious thing to come
to a conclusion about what is or was in another person's mind,
conscious or unconscious, unless the other person is able to con-

firm it by his own words.

The foregoing statement has great pertinence when we attempt
to say anything at allabout what goes on in the mind of a new-
born infant or of any child up to the time when he has attained
a sufficient proficiency in the use of language. The infant is,
in etymological terms, the unspeaking, and he cannot tell us
what goes on in his mind. Fond parents, for instance, will often

suppose that their two month old infant is showing unmistakable

signs of sociability by smiling at them; the pediatrician, on the
other hand, tells us that this infant's facial gesture is no smile,
but a grimace occasioned by gas pains in the abdomen. I have
no way of saying which interpretation of the infant's behavior
is right, since only the baby is in a position to know, and he

is an "unspeaking," an infant. Whatever is stated about the

nature of consciousness in infancy is necessarily the result of

conjecture or of reconstruction, reasoning after the fact, and
can never be definitively proved.
It is ofen felt by psychologists that we are on safe ground
in supposing that the fetus exists in a state of complete and
effortless satisfaction. This supposition is based upon a consider-
ation of the physiologic circumstances of intrauterine life; physio-
logically speaking, the fetus is living
under optimal conditions,
It existsenveloped in a warm fluid in which temperature change
(if any) has an infinitesimal range: its skin cannot feel too cold
or too hot. It needs to engage in no exertion whatsoever; it does
not even have to breathe, as all the oxygen it requires is supplied
to it by the mother's bloodstream, which flows through the fetus
via the placenta and the umbilical cord. It does not need to di-
gest, as the food-substances, already prepared by the mother's
to it by the same
physiologic processes for assimilation, come
50 William V. Silverberg

means as its oxygen. It does not need to evacuate waste materials,

as thesame flow of blood carries metabolic products from its
body to the mother's, whose physiologic processes dispose of
them. It does not need to adjust to changing intensities of light,
since the womb is a place of perpetual darkness. All this is true
if the mother good health and well fed; if she is not, there
is in

may be some vicissitudes of fetal life. However, under ordinary

conditions, a consideration of these physiologic matters would

seem to justify the conclusion that, psychologically speaking, the
fetus exists in a state of uninterrupted and effortless satisfaction :

in other words, a state of physiologic and psychic homeostasis is

maintained up to the beginning of labor.
There arise, however, certain questions in connection with
even this apparently simyple and justifiable conclusion. We need
not, perhaps, question the physiologic facts. But when, at what
point in fetal development, may we begin to speak of psychic
homeostasis? When, if at any time, does or can awareness begin
in fetal life? Do we have to conclude that in the fetus physiologic
homeostasis is identical with psychic homeostasis? If so, does that

identity change, once the fetus is born, and when, and how, and
why? In cases where the mother and the physiologic home-
is ill

ostasis of the fetusis disturbed, does it have awareness of this?

Can experience anxiety? Does the fetus experience anything

it

psychically when it is headed for intrauterine death? Such ques-

tions cannot be answered except by conjecture. The supposition
that the fetus in the process of birth experiences anxiety, is merely
a supposition and leaves unanswered the question, When does
the fetus begin to have the capacity for feeling anxiety?
Another question involves the meaning of fetal movements,
which after the fourth month of fetal life can be felt tactilely
and can often be seen in their impact upon the mother's ab-
dominal wall. Do the movements signify interruptions of physi-
ologic homeostasis, and are they attempts to restore it? If so, is
there any fetal awareness of such interruptions, and how are
they felt? This query cannot be answered, but the fact that it
can be asked makes us immediately question the absoluteness of
the supposed unbroken and effortless satisfaction of fetal life.
By asking it, we have implied that even the fetus may upon occa-
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 51

sion have a sense of "something is the matter." Perhaps this im-

plication contains a tentative answer to the question, When does
the fetal psyche originate? Possibly it begins as soon as the fetus
is capable of having a sense of "something is the matter," which
comes about ordinarily during the fifth month of its life.
In any case, we are cautioned by this line of thought to re-

gard the concept of unbroken, effortless satisfaction

during fetal
life as a relative one, and to be skeptical about the contention

that the so-called trauma of birth marks the first experience of

anxiety in the life of the human organism. It has been pointed

out by Freud [10, pp. 96 ff., and especially p. 101] that the
most common somatic manifestations of anxiety acceleration
of the respiratory rate and of the heart beat have a utility and
an expediency in the situation of birth that they do not have in
later situations of anxiety: they aid the organism in performing
the transition from the placental type of oxygenation and circu-
latory flow to the autonomous one in which oxygenation depends
upon the organism's own respiratory efforts and circulatory flow
depends upon the organism's own cardiac action.
Freud [10, p. 97] likewise pointed out in the same connec-
tion that is characterized not only by such somatic
anxiety
phenomena but also by a sensation whose "unpleasurable quality
seems to have a character of its own." Disturbed physiologic
homeostasis in the fetus could perhaps cause the fetus to experi-
ence this unpleasurable sensation, which would thus become the
most rudimentary manifestation of anxiety, that portion of the
psychosomatic complex of anxiety which may be present even
in fetal life, and without the presence of which we should be

skeptical about a diagnosis of anxiety. Clinically, we often en-

counter anxiety that has no perceptible somatic manifestations.
On the other hand, we are accustomed to diagnose anxiety from
the presence of one or more somatic manifestations (sweating of
the palms, for instance) even when the unpleasurable subjective
sensation is denied. Perhaps we should be more skeptical about
this than we are: either the subject of our diagnosis serves a

purpose of his own in denying the subjective sensation (for ex-

ample, maintaining face by denying he is afraid or uncomfortable
in the given situation), or, if the subjective sensation is actually'
52 William V. Silverberg

absent, the somatic manifestationmay have a quite different

significance. Again we
confronted with the difficulty of
are

knowing what goes on in the mind of another without verbal

confirmation from him. Ultimately such confirmation may be
forthcoming, but meanwhile we do well to maintain a question
in our own minds. Possibly the fetus feels only discomfort;
Freud conceived it, perhaps occurs in a
full and com-
anxiety, as
plete form only after the experience of birth. We
may regard
the homeostatic state of the fetus as one in which satisfaction
is only relatively uninterrupted and effortless relatively, that is,
as compared with postnatal life.
The newborn infant, now literally cut off from his fetal con-

nection with his mother's physiologic processes, is utterly helpless

to survive without the care given by the mother or a surrogate for
her. His newly acquired respiration and cardiac action fulfill his
metabolic needs for tissue oxygenation and for exchange within
the tissues of food-substances for metabolic products; his di-
gestive system now begins the lifelong tasks of assimilation of
food and elimination of wastes. He is, physiologically speaking,
a competent, functioning organism. But there his competence
ends. He cannot procure for himself the food which, once it is in
his mouth, he is now competent to handle. He cannot keep him-
self warm, nor protect himself from any of the myriad dangers
which beset his intactness and his life. Needs he has and feels,
for he cries when he is hungry or cold or when he experiences

pain or other discomfort; but fulfill his needs he cannot. If his

cry brings no one to divine his need and to satisfy it, he is at
the end of his resources.
How the infant feels in this situation of relative helplessness
relative because, while the cry is his only resource, it is a
resource what we should like to know, but can only specu-
is

late about. Two workers, Sandor Ferenczi and Trigant Burrow,

have engaged in what seem to be useful speculations about this
matter. Even though there is evidence that seems to give support
to their speculations, it cannot be too strongly emphasized that
their hypotheses cannot ever be more than provisionally ac-
infant will always limit
cepted, since the unspeakingness of the
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 53

our thinking about the nature of his consciousness to conjecture

and reconstruction.
Ferenczi [4] conjectured that the newborn infant, with his
intrauterine history of unvarying physiologic homeostasis, re-
garded himself as omnipotent; that, having never known frus-
tration, the infant supposed this freedom from frustration to be
the result of his own powers. Ferenczi based this idea on Freud's
findings [6] in cases of obsessional neurosis and his own clinical
confirmation of these. The infant's notion of his own omnipo-
tence, according to Ferenczi, becomes modified, as time goes on,
in response to two factors: (1) the introduction of more and
more frustration, producing more frequent and longer delays
between the incidence of a need and its fulfillment, and more
frequent and more prolonged disturbances of psychic home-
ostasis; (2) the emergence, through growth, of new functioning
better muscular coordination and the rudiments of speech.
Thus, while at the start of extrauterine life the infant's subjective

omnipotence operates in a hallucinatory manner (he hallucinates

fulfillment of his need and it is fulfilled), later on it operates by

gestures, and still later by words and by thoughts. Ferenczi ap-

pears to have omitted the cry from this series, but Sullivan [21,
p. 7] has pointed out that the cry is an instrumentality much
used by the infant in his effort to live by the use of power. In-
fantile omnipotence is ultimately renounced, according to Fe-
renczi, because increasing frustration, resulting from the gradual
withdrawal of the mother or her surrogate from the role of con-
stant watchful helper, demonstrates to the child that he does
not possess omnipotence, reconciles him to the need to take
into account factors of external reality, and induces in him the
endeavor to manipulate them toward his ends. Thus the sense of
omnipotence is replaced by the sense of reality [20, pp. 387 ff.].
This replacement is never complete; it is made only to the
it has a pragmatic value for the child and not because
extent that
the child perceives any moral value or other virtue in adherence
to his newly acquired sense of reality. In so far as functioning
in terms of a sense of reality gets him more, in so far as it
increases the effectiveness of his activity, he is for it; if it fails
54 William V. Silverberg

Iiim, if this effectiveness is not increased by it or is perchance

lowered by it, he will abandon the sense of reality and will at-
tempt to function in terms of a sense of supposed omnipotence.
This we see clearly and often in the case of adults, and we may
therefore postulate it a fortiori in the case of the child. Further-
more, it should here be remarked that when we speak of omnip-
otence in the psychic sense, we do not give the word precisely
the same meaning as we do when we use it in a metaphysical or
in a theological context. In the latter we mean literally all-power,
power over everything conceivable, as when we speak of God's

omnipotence. The omnipotence of the human being, the omnip-

otence that he sometimes strives for, is more limited in its appli-
cation: he seeks all-power only over those things which are of
direct concern to him. While the child might desire all-power
over the movements and activity of the mother or other person
significant to him, he would not be interested in power over the
Argentinians, for example, or over the Paris subway system.
When we use the concept of omnipotence in human psychology,
we must confine its application to those factors of the individ-
ual's world which are of direct and immediate significance to him.
The speculations of Burrow [3] on the nature of the infantile

psyche are perhaps implied in Ferenczi's hypotheses, just de-

scribed, and were certainly assumed by Freud, apparently with-
out the awareness that Burrow had explicitly formulated them.
Burrow supposed that psychically the newborn infant exists in
a "primary subjective phase" of consciousness. By this he meant
that the infant makes no between self and nonself,
distinction
unbroken continuum of him-
that he conceives his existence as an
self and all the perceived world about him, both persons and

things. Thus the mother's nipple in his mouth as he sucks milk

and derives a sensory thrill as well as nourishment from it is
regarded by him as belonging to his own self, as a part of his
own body-image, and not as something nonself, belonging to
another person and able to be used and enjoyed only so long as
the other person, to whom it belongs, permits. It will be seen that
this wide, extended concept of self resembles the "oceanic feel-
ing" mentioned by Freud in Civilization and Its Discontents [11] ?
where it is related to early states of consciousness.
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 55

The and prolongation of disturbances

increasing frequency
in psychic homeostasis experiences of intensifying frustration
and the gradual lessening of the mother's or her surrogate's
constant and alert attention to the infant's comfort and well-
being, teach the infant that his needs or wishes can often not be
fulfilledby any efforts of his own; he learns that the satisfaction
of his wants requires the mediation of another person, one who
is not always available to him and who, even if available, does

not always attend to his needs or wishes. Such experience pro-

duces a gradual disintegration of the primary subjective phase and
results eventually in the awareness that a sharp distinction exists
between what isand what is other, or nonself. Here, too, as
self
in Ferenczi's hypothesis of an infantile sense of omnipotence,

experiences of frustration play a dominant part in the transition

to a sense of reality in thedeveloping infant. He learns that all
the world not encompassed in his own body, that his oceanic
is

feeling is illusory and untenable, and that he does not possess

all-power over all those things which are of significance and
concern to his comfort and well-being. These lessons are but
tentatively learned.
For the infant the sense of reality has no virtue in itself;
the value of the distinctions he learns to make lies in the fact
that his disillusionment enableshim to adapt himself to the world
about him in such a way that he can sometimes manipulate its
various factors to achieve wish-fulfillment more readily than he
could before he learned the lessons of reality. Bernard S. Robbins
[15] has shown that this pragmatic attitude toward the sense of
reality exists in adult life.
We must assume, for we see the clearest evidences of it not
only in adult human beings but in the behavior of animals as
well, that it is inherent in all living organisms to strive toward
the fulfillment of needs and wishes which have a biologic prov-
enance and which may or may not have psychic representa-
tion. By the latter I mean simply that such needs and wishes

may be felt or they may not be felt. The fact that in acculturated
human beings and in some animals capable of training, the efforts
toward such fulfillment of needs and wishes may be temporarily
or "permanently" inhibited does not vitiate the general state-
55 William V. Silver berg

ment: we suppose that the tendency to fulfillment exists even

when behavior fails to give testimony that it is in operation. The
man who offers his seat in a crowded bus to a woman would pre-

fer to remain seated but chooses to discommode himself either

in the interest of considering himself or of being
considered a

"gentleman" or in the interest of some other form of altruism.

The man who covets his neighbor's wife would try to take her
set of moral scruples
if he could square it with his acculturated

or if he did not fear the humiliation of being rejected by her or

the anger of her husband. Inhibiting factors merely complicate
store by the ful-
the general principle that we set the greatest
fillment of all that we may wish or need.
We do well to try to maintain this distinction between wish
it is not always easy to distinguish
them.
and need, although
A need may be defined as that which is necessary to health and
to survival (for instance, the need for sufficient food to maintain
as wish, re-
health and life) All else desired may be regarded
.

with which it is desired. The fulfillment

gardless of the intensity
of sexual desire, while often felt with great intensity, is never

necessary to survival, though we often postulate that it is essential

to psychic or physiologic health. Many instances could be cited

ia which sexual abstinence is maintained for long periods
with-

out apparent detriment to health. However this may be, whether

sexual fulfillment in general is to be considered a need or a wish,
it is true that the fulfillment of sexual desire
with a specific
is a wish rather than a need, even though the chooser
partner
may insist that it is a need.
It happensoften enough that people will make certain con-
which is represented as needs, and then
ditions, the fulfillment of
bully or otherwise coerce others into fulfilling these conditions.
A mother, for example, will get it established that she has an
attack of cardiac failure whenever her grown up son disobeys
her. Thus her wish to dominate her son is represented as a
need. A child who intensely wants a particular toy may attempt
to coerce the parents by saying with great feeling, "I need it,
I NEED it." Subjectively, one often does not take the trouble
to distinguish between an intense wish and a need, and often
enough one is quite sincere in the feeling or statement of need
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 57

where merely a strong wish is involved. Under such circum-

stances, whether that which is desired might be objectively de-
fined as a wish or as a need, the individual puts into operation
whatever procedures he is capable of for bringing about its
achievement. The degree of success attendant upon these efforts
comes under the heading of what I have termed effective ag-
1
gression. In this sense, effective aggression represents the success
with which the ego functions in the carrying out of impulses.
The impulse may be purely biologic in origin or, arising from
biologic sources, may become greatly modified by experiences
of acculturation. The impulse to evacuate the rectum when it
contains feces is purely biologic (physiologic) in origin. Toilet-

training temporarily inhibits this impulse until culturally suitable

conditions can be found for its release.
Effective aggression refers to the executive function of the
ego. The ego, as Freud saw it, was that part of the psyche in
closest contact with the external world. Through it, perceptions
of internal and external reality are received and given meaning.
The ego also controls the innervations which can produce or
inhibit muscular action and therefore motility. An impulse aris-
ing from the id, the great reservoir of that energy which Freud
called libido, can of itself produce no muscular activity, no
motility toward its goal, unless the ego acquiesces and sets in
operation the necessary muscular innervations. Thus no aggres-
sion, effective or otherwise, can occur, unless initiated by the
ego. The theoretic difficulty mentioned in the Introduction in
connection with Freud's instinct-theories now becomes painfully
apparent. In his conception of the ego, Freud set up an executive
agency of determining importance: one of its functions is to
decide whether or not a given impulse shall receive motor
expression or be inhibited. Yet the energy wherewith the ego
operates in carrying out this function is not specifically its own:
the energy is borrowed from precisely the same source from
which the impulse, now submitted to the ego's decision, arises.
7
in my paper "On the Origin of Neurosis" [17].
This phrase was introduced
The reader will there find the formulation of this concept (pp.
interested
116ff.), as well as remarks on the drawbacks involved in the phrase. In the
latter connection it should be noted that the key-word is effective; the term
aggression might be replaced by action, activity, behavior, or the like.
58 William V. Silverberg

We are confronted with a dilemma: either we are dealing

with a single, unitary kind of energy, in itself undifferentiated
and nonspecific in its aims, upon which any psychic agency,
whether impulse or ego, may draw in its attempts to function;
or we are dealing with different types of energy, each specific
to the type of psychic agency concerned. In a sense, Freud

attempted to encompass both horns of this dilemma. In terms

of his earlier instinct-theory, libido was a single, unitary type of
energy, and yet it had a specifically sexual character: it was
uniformly pleasure-seeking. Freud [7, pp. 460 fL] objected to
Tung's attempt [12, pp. 77 fL] to define libido as nonspecific, as
not specifically sexual, and, therefore, as a general, undiffer-
entiated energy (somewhat equivalent to Bergson's elan vital)
upon which any psychic agency might draw. Freud ascribed to
the ego no other source of energy but the libido; furthermore
in so far as the ego might oppose a libidinal impulse, it had to
compete with that impulse for enough energy (libido) to make
good its opposition.
Freud's concept of primary narcissism carried the implication
that ego and id had originally been one, without differentiation,
and that libido was originally at the disposal of this undifferenti-
ated id-ego, or primitive self. Once the differentiation of id and
ego occurred, in response to situations threatening the intactness
of the whole organism (in psychic terms, this id-ego), id and
ego had to compete for quanta of libido. Freud now spoke of
ego-libido and object-libido; withdrawal of libido from objects
resulted in a proportionate accretion of libido to the ego. But
what psychic agency determined the withdrawal of libido from
an object, unless it was the ego itself? If libido is to be with-
drawn from an object, ego-libido would have to be stronger
than id-libido object-libido can be nothing other than the id's
investment of an object with desire for pleasure by means of
that object and the crucial question arises, What factor has
produced the ascendancy of ego-libido over id-libido?
The difficulty here is entirely a theoretic one and results from
the untenability of the hypothesis of libido as both a single,
unitary energy and a specific pleasure-seeking energy. If, what-
ever their original state, ego and id are seen to be often in
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 59

opposition one to the other, it is simpler to suppose that their

obviously different aims are based upon different types of drive
or energy. The fact that ego and id are often enough not in a
state of mutual antagonism and that they often operate synergisti-

cally does not vitiate this hypothesis of their operating upon the
basis of specifically different drives. Just as different people may
function, now in antagonism, now in cooperation, so different
psychic agencies within the same person may function. Indeed,
effective aggression may be seen as an attempt to achieve

synergism of id and ego, the goal of total effective aggression

or omnipotence being an ideal restoration of the primitive id -ego.
If the ego never opposed or modified an id-impulse, or, putting
the matter somewhat differently, if every impulse were un-
questioningly and successfully put into effect by the ego, some-
thing like omnipotence would have been achieved, something,
resembling the intrauterine state of effortless satisfaction would
have been restored, neurosis would no longer exist, and books
such as the present one would not be written.
Freud's later instinct-theory does not alter the situation greatly.
This theory did introduce a new energic principle, that of
Thanatos, thus destroying the conception of libido as a single,
unitary energy and requiring it to share the field with another
energy having a specifically different quality. Freud seemed
thereby to resolve the aforementioned dilemma, by abandoning
the first horn of it. But he did not adopt the second horn of this
dilemma: Thanatos and Eros were equally energies of the id,
and the ego was still left to borrow one or the other from the id
or to bring about a variety of fusions and defusions of them, by
means of what additional energy was not stated. As a matter of
fact, neither Thanatos nor Eros, as Freud defined them, was
well adapted to become specifically an ego-drive, since survival
was given a subordinate role in the theory. Thanatos received
the major role; it was the death instinct and drove toward non-
survival in its primary position (directed "inward") and toward
destructiveness in its secondary position (directed "outward").

Eros was regarded as opposed to the death instinct and drove

toward growth, union with others, and what in general one might
term constructiveness. To Eros was bequeathed the libido, but,
60 William V. Silver berg

since Freud assigned it the minor role, its operations were seen
as mere temporizings, as detours from the highroad of death,
as delays and interim arrangements in the major process that
had as its goal the decay and disintegration of the living, organic
substances of the body into nonliving, chemically inorganic sub-
stances. The psyche desired passionately the death of its own
soma and the destruction of the soma of others; survival meant
littleto it in comparison to the peace of biologic nothingness.
This metapsychologic picture seems greatly at odds with hu-
man nature and, in fact, with general organic nature as it
is observed. Freud [9, chap. 6] himself attempted
to deal criti-

cally with it when he first presented it to the world. He raised

the questions whether instinctual death is not merely character-
istic of the metazoa (many-celled animals) as compared
with
the animals), and whether instinctual
protozoa (single-celled
death occurs in the somatic cells of the human body but not in
the germ-plasm (the sperm and ova), which consists of single-
celled entities like the protozoa. He showed very clearly that
death "from natural causes" occurs among the protozoa only
when external conditions are unfavorable to life in stagnant

water or in a test tube, where the protozoon is killed by its own

unremoved metabolic products; or when amphimixis (nonrepro-
ductive, rejuvenating conjugation between protozoa) is prevented
from occurring. Freud used these examples to demonstrate his
the protozoa, but
point about instinctual death even among
what he actually showed by the evidence he adduced is that pro-
tozoan death occurs only under extraordinary external circum-
stances in confined, stagnant water or in the absence of the
not death "from natural
opportunity for conjugation. This is
causes" or endogenous death. It is either accidental death or
murder
Freud must be credited with having presented his new in-

stinct theory with a tentativeness disarmingly frank. He wrote

[9, p. 76], "I might be asked

whether I am myself convinced
of the views here set forward, and if so how far. My answer
would be that I am neither convinced myself, nor am I seeking
to arouse conviction in others. More accurately: I do not know
how far I believe in them." Or again [9, p. 77], "People un-
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 61

fortunately are seldom impartial where they are concerned with

ultimate things. There everyone is under the sway of prefer-
. .

ences deeply rooted within, into the hands of which he unwit-

tingly plays as he pursues his speculation." In his later work [11]
he assumed the validity of his speculation and was never again
so critical of it.

I would contend that a metapsychology is useful and valid

only in so far as able to account for observed phenomena,
it is

and that the metapsychology above described fails to account

for the drive of all organic life toward survival, which appears

empirically to take precedence over all other drives, and for the
executive function of the ego. These are serious deficiencies, and
1
Freud's particular "preferences' seem to have relegated the ego
to the position of stepchild of psychoanalysis. The historical
reasons for this are well known, but whether they were inherent
in the material that confronted Freud in his early work and as
he went along, or whether they were inherent in his prefer-
ences, is a debatable question. There can be little doubt that it
is to the advantage of psychology that Freud elected to pursue

first the study of libidinal factors and their vicissitudes, as these

needed for their elucidation precisely those unique qualities of

observation, intuition, and formulation, which he brought to
the work. Ego psychology is much more obvious and super-
ficial, and much easier to study and describe. It does not require
the genius which was uniquely Freud's. It is perhaps unduly
demanding to have expected Freud to do the thorough job with
ego factors that he did with libidinal ones. But it seems to me
that the legitimate task of his successors is to restore to the

ego its full significance and to assign to it its pro-

and proper
portionate role in the affairs of the human psyche.
The task demands, I believe, that the ego be given a theoretic
basis for its functioning; in other words, to postulate for it
a specific kind of drive or energy which has survival of the
total organism as its chief goal and which operates by the
medium of effective aggression. An advantage of the latter con-
cept is that it permits us to see the ego as concerned with mat-
ters not accounted for if we regard it as actuated solely, or even

mainly, by motivations of defense. It is an operational concept

62 William V. Silverberg

which accounts for the ego's efforts in the direction of

achieve-
ment as well as of defense.
The psychologists including Freud, Sullivan (with his anx-
of basic
iety-based self-system), and Horney (with her concept
anxiety) who base the ego's functioning solely or even mainly
have overlooked
upon the organism's defensive needs, appear to
one of the outstanding facts in the observable behavior of the
young child: his obvious tendency to do something, a some-

thing which is neither defense against nor avoidance of danger,

but merely wish-fulfilling. Certainly, as we observe the infant
and the young child, we see that defense is not his only concern
and that his resources for defense are mobilized and utilized
of a sense of danger
only when he senses danger. In the absence
which is usually the case during the greater part of each
hours the child is apt to engage in behavior we
twenty-four
would have to describe as doing something rather than avoid-
ing something. The infant of eight or
nine months does not

ordinarily spend his waking hours in perceiving dangers

and
devising means of circumventing them; he sits on the floor or

in his play-pen and manipulates in some fashion that appears

to his hand: he shakes
satisfying to him whatever objects come
his he
rattle, the foot or hand of his rag doll into his
puts
mouth, he vocalizes with apparent joy and enthusiasm, and he
does such things repeatedly and tirelessly and with obvious
pleasure.The somewhat older child who has achieved locomo-
tion has a correspondingly wider repertory of doing. To a vast
extent the activity of the young child is not defensive but is
fact not hitherto adequately
simply pleasurable doing, a patent
taken into account in formulating theories of personality and
neurosis.Freud was able to show in one instance [9, pp. 1 1 ff.]
that a child'sgame did have defensive significance, but it may
be doubted that this is universally, or even most frequently, the
case (nor did Freud claim that it was).
It seems reasonable enough to accept Freud's conclusion that
for reasons of defense the ego becomes differentiated from the
primitive ego-id continuum
and that its origin serves a defensive
purpose. But it is likewise
reasonable to suppose that one of
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 63

the outcomes of this differentiation and therefore perhaps one

of the considerations motivating it is that the organism as a
whole is thus placed in a better position to achieve fulfillment
of its positive needs and wishes. The reasoning here is much like
that of Freudin one of his early metapsychologic papers [8]:

experience teaches one the expediency of denying immediate

fulfillment to some of one's wishes, which is counter to the
dictates of the pleasure principle; the delay in fulfillment is often
dictated by the reality principle in order that the ultimate fulfill-
ment of the wish may be assured. Thus it is seen that the reality
principle does not differ essentially from the pleasure principle;
the former is merely a modification of the latter and is adopted
to make morecertain the operation of the pleasure principle in
itsoriginal form. So the differentiation into ego and id, while
undertaken for defensive reasons and while sacrificing the homo-
geneity, the oneness, of the primitive self, results in a condition
superior to the original one the world and its frustrations being
what they are for the achievement of pleasure-goals.
Indeed, the ego throughout life is characterized by its tend-

ency to compromise and to make sacrifices in order to main-

tain life and to achieve, even though in delayed and partial and
substitutive fashion, goals signalized by id-impulses. The ego's

major aim, however, is survival, and in this sense, defense may

be said to be its cornerstone. Just as a trapped animal will sacri-
fice a paw or a leg if this enables it to escape from the trap, so
the ego will sacrifice any id-impulse which, if carried out, seems
to threaten survival. (Certain "heroic" exceptions to the fore-
going statement are discussed in the following chapter.) Survival
is thus the main concern of the ego, and its energic force maty

thus be defined as whatever in the organism drives toward sur-

vival. But if survival seems assured or is not threatened, then
the ego's other task, the achieving of pleasure-goals, becomes
paramount. The drive for survival must be regarded as primarily
irrational and as not requiring any rational basis: it merely exists.
In so far as this drive might be rationalized, the continued op-
portunity to achieve pleasure-goals, to do, would constitute its
rationale. I mention this in order to place these two drives in
 64 William V. Silverberg

proper perspective: the drive for survival cannot be reasoned

with; when survival is at stake, the ego drops everything else
and concentrates its adaptative powers upon it.

Survival is usually striven for even

every potentiality for
if

doing is lost. Suicide (or suicidal impulses or thoughts) in such

circumstances may seem to contradict the primacy of the drive
for survival and thus to give the drive to do the major role.
This is true only if suicide is taken at its facevalue and if the
fact, clinically demonstrable, is ignored that suicide is essentially
an vengeance and murder, an act calculated to torture,
act of

through a perpetual bad conscience, the someone else (in some

instances, perhaps, God) held responsible for one's woes. The
act of suicide seems postulated upon a conviction of survival
in some form, a contention supported by many of the popular

superstitions about death and the dead, particularly, in this in-

stance, the beliefs concerning the possibility of the dead return-
ing and haunting their enemies. Relevant here is the common
unconscious conviction that though dead one remains in a sense
alive. Frazer [5, chap. 18] deals with such beliefs among primi-
tive peoples.
In any case, the concept of effective aggression can encompass
both the defensive function of the ego (its concern with survival)
and its function of doing, of achieving the pleasure-goals to
which the id impels it.
Thus far I have dealt with effective aggression descriptively,

endeavoring to define its quality. It is clear, however, that it

has also a quantitative aspect, which is perhaps the more im-
portant one for our purpose. For we have to be concerned not
only with the kind of effort made by the ego in its operations,
but more importantly with how effective the effort is. To what
extent the ego's effort successful? Does the ego achieve what
is

it attempts to perform in exactly the manner contemplated in

its its maneuver? Has it, along the
intention at the start of way
had tocompromise? If so, how much less than its original in-
tention has it had to settle for, or has it had to abandon its
original goal entirely? If it has had to compromise or abandon
its goal, what are the causes of this change? Has the
ego met
with obstacles which it may regard as insuperable in the nature
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 65

of things or merely insuperable to it? Is the compromise or failure

due to deficiencies of the particular ego and its capacities, or
was the goal to be achieved an impossible one? If the latter alter-
native obtains, could the difficulty have been foreseen, or was
the impossibility not predictable and only discoverable in the
course of the attempt? All these questions and many similar ones
indicate the quantitative aspects of effective aggression and sug-
gest how these may be linked to self-esteem.
Self-esteem may be regarded as the psychic counterpart to
somatic survival. Totally and continuously effective aggression,
if such a thing were possible, would result in an indestructible

self-esteem.On the other hand, failures in effectiveness of aggres-

sion produce a lowering or loss of self-esteem. In the early weeks
and months of extrauterine life the relative helplessness of the
infant ordinarily evokes in the mother an alert attention to his
needs and their fulfillment. But if, in accordance with Burrow's
hypothesis, the infant, being in the primary subjective phase,
does not distinguish between himself and his mother, this alert
behavior of the latter will produce in him the impression that
he has brought about the desired restoration of homeostasis and
that his own doing (whether by hallucination, gesture, cry, word,
or thought) is responsible for the fulfillment of his need or wish.
The difficulty of expressing what may go on in the mind of the
infant still in the primary subjective phase is well illustrated by
the foregoing sentence. The entire structure of language seems
predicated upon the distinction between "self" and "other," a
distinction which we assume the infant has not yet made. A
more accurate version of the sentence would prob-
referred to
ably be: "This alert behavior on the part of the mother will
produce in the infant the impression that the desired restoration
of homeostasis has been brought about and that a certain action
performed (whether hallucination, etc.) is relevant to the out-
come (restored homeostasis)."
Thus the infant's doing or aggression is felt by him as effeo.

tive to the extent to which the mother fulfills his needs. Tht
more alert the mother, the briefer and less frequent will be the
periods of disturbed homeostasis, and in accord with his sub-
jective bias, the more effective and powerful the infant will feel
66 William V. Silverberg

himself to be. It would seem that such a sense of adequacy and

objective inaccuracy, must be basic
its to
competence, despite
self-esteem and must form the foundation of the healthy ego.
Loretta Bender has pointed out [2] that where such alert care
by maternal agencies is inadequate (as in foundling institutions,
for example) the outcome in later childhood and adult life is
an incurable psychopathy a marked retardation and flatness,
emotionally and intellectually. Such infants are given
no basis
for the illusion of effective aggression, which the mother's alert
attention to more fortunate ones, and are therefore unable
grants
to establish that degree of self-esteem upon which healthy ego-
functioning is based. of Bender
The work would suggest that
a constitutional factor is here operative, for the very frustra-
tions and delays which, when they occur somewhat later in the
infant's life, favor the healthy establishment of a sense of reality,

operate with permanently damaging

effect when they occur in

the earliest weeks and months. It would seem that too much
disturbance of homeostasis too soon in life cannot be tolerated
by the psychosomatic constitution as it then exists.
One is reminded here of Freud's concept (in Beyond the Pleas-
ure Principle [9]) of a Reizschutz or protective barrier against
excessive stimuli arising both from the external world and from
within the organism itself. He likened this to a hard rind devel-
oping from the surface membrane of an organism of vesicular

shape, as the originally delicate surface layer had become

if

toughened through continuously repeated contacts with environ-

mental substances and objects. It is as if, in the situation men-
tioned above, this psychic Reizschutz had not yet had time to
develop, so that such stimuli, assailing the organism prematurely,
break through the surface and do damage to the interior sub-
stance. The same stimuli, if they can be held off until after the
Reizschutz has developed, will be fended off by the latter with-
out damaging effect to inner substance.
This is a perfectly comprehensible concept, but it is difficult
to translate it into psychic or somatic or psychosomatic terms.
It may be conjectured that this difficulty exists because of our

present ignorance of certain factors whose discovery and eluci-

dation may not be too far off. The work of Selye [16] and others
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 67

upon the physiologic effects of stress and the manner in which

the organism meets them and attempts to ward them off or to
compensate for them would seem to offer the possibility of
giving substance, not too far off in the future, to Freud's con-
ception of a Reizschutz and to my attempt to explain the con-
stitutional nature of the damage, clinically described by Bender,
which results from too great frustration too early in life.
In the ordinary case, where the incidence of frustration is
more gradual and not so drastic, the sense of reality supervenes
as an acceptance of a distinction between self and other and as
a realization of limits to one's own power. As has already been
said, thisacceptance and this realization may be unwilling and
tentative,but by the end of the first year of life they are estab-
lished in large degree. This change to a sense of reality would
have to be accompanied by some reduction in effectiveness of
aggression and some corresponding reduction in self-esteem.
These effects are, however, counteracted to some extent by the
emergence of new capacities greatly increased muscular co-
ordination (with the concomitant power of locomotion) and the
acquisition of the rudiments of language. Such factors not only
increase the child's resourcefulness, making him thereby lesi
helpless than he was at birth, but often produce in his parents
enthusiastic and affectionate approval. Much of what is lost in
self-esteem by the reduction in an illusory type of effective ag-
gression is made up for by these accretions to real effectiveness
of aggression and by the pleasing sense of being approved of
and having the favor of these important people, the parents.
The self-esteem of the one year old is not so absolute or inde-
structible as it was in infancy; it is more relative and more pre-
carious, but it exists on the more realistic basis of the actual
capacities of the child and has the additional support of parental
approval. ,

Throughout life self-esteem has these two sources: an inner

source, the degree of effectiveness of one's own aggression; and
an external source, the opinions of others about oneself. Both
are important, but the former is the steadier and more depend-
able one; the latter is always more uncertain. Unhappy and
insecure is the man who, lacking an adequate inner source for
68 William V. Silverberg

self-esteem, must depend for this almost wholly upon external

sources. It is the condition seen by the psychotherapist almost
universally among his patients.
In the child, threats to self-esteem are of two kinds: threatened
failuresof the effectiveness of his aggression and threatened
withdrawal of parental (mainly maternal) love and approval.
Such threats constitute the psychic counterpart of threats to
somatic intactness and survival. In later childhood, threatened
loss of parental approval may readily equate, in certain instances,
with threats to somatic survival, since parental love and approval
may become to the child the guarantee of such survival. The
relation of this to self-esteem will be discussed in the following
chapter. In the presence of actual danger to such intactness or
survival, fear is the emotion felt; and the perception of such
a danger immediately impending, though not yet present, arouses
anxiety. Actual injury to self-esteem produces the
emotion of
humiliation, the intensity of which corresponds to the extent of
the injury. The perception of an impending blow to self-esteem

produces apprehended somatic danger.

anxiety, as in the case of
Fear and humiliation produce on-the-spot and usually quite
random measures for dealing with the situations that evoke them.
One is immediately confronted with a threatening situation and
must improvise a defense. Such improvisations may or may
not be successful in avoiding the danger or in mitigating its
effects; the defense responses may be partially successful, which
means also partially unsuccessful.

Anxiety, as differentiated above from both fear and humili-

ation, produces somewhat different results. Since, in the case of
anxiety, the danger is not yet actually present, but only impend-
ing or threatening to be present, there may yet
be time to plan
an effective means of coping with the threat. Forewarned is fore-
armed, and anxiety has the advantage of a forewarning.
Because the faculty of perception is involved in such fore-
is one of
sight of dangerous situations, and because perception
the ego's functions, Freud regarded the ego as the seat and

point of origin of anxiety. He therefore supposed

that measures
to avert foreseen danger emanate from the ego. Repression is one
such measure: the ego, aware of an impulse arising from the id.
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 69

perceives from its watchtower overlooking the environment that

danger from the outside will attack the total organism if an
attempt is made to carry out the impulse. Such a perception
arouses anxiety in the ego, and its obvious way of averting the
danger is to quell the impulse, if it can. The stronger the impulse
in the ego's own terms, the stronger the temptation to perform
the act implied by the impulse the greater the anxiety, because
of the greater likelihood of the ego's initiating the motor actions
appropriate to expressing the impulse. The ego's best plan, then,
is to quell the impulse by disowning it, by "forgetting" it, by
repressing it.

The ego has other devices for dealing with id-impulses that
threaten to upset the harmony and safety which the ego has been
at pains to establish and maintain in the organism's relations
with the outside world. Prominent among these is reaction-for-
mation, in which the ego manifests an impulse precisely opposite
to the one actually aroused in the id by the external situation.
The impulse manifested in the device of reaction-formation is, as
Sullivan once pointed out, 2 the appropriate id-syntonic impulse
with a not prefixed to it. If the original impulse is to kill, reac-
tion-formation transforms it into to not-kill, which
may come to
mean must be added, however, that reaction-
to take care of. It
formation is not simply a matter of grammar and semantics. If
the opposite impulse, the one expressed by the prefixed not, does
not exist in its own right as a psychic potentiality, it cannot be
used for purposes of reaction-formation. Suppose that the ex-
ample given arises in a situation of sibling hostility: the original
impulse, then, is to kill the sibling, but owing to the process
above described it becomes transformed by reaction-formation
into the not-kill, take-care-of impulse. This transformation will
the more readily take place if the child has already evolved some
tendency to want a baby of his own to take care of, in what-
ever specific terms he conceives this. In other words, reaction-
formation involves of necessity some positive quality in the
not-impulse; the negativity of the not-impulse, taken alone, is
an insufficient basis for its adoption even as an anxiety-solving
device. It seems to me likely that where the appropriate not-
2
In a lecture in Washington, D. C., in 1935, so far as I know unpublished.
70 William V. Silverberg

impulse lacks positive value, the ego will be constrained to choose

a different defensive device, such as repression, for example.

Regression,another of the ego's defensive devices, handles

the danger-provoking impulse by expressing it in an earlier form,
one which has proved in the past to be safe. For example, if
one's takes the form of seeking pleasure through exhibit-
impulse
to seduce her into
ing the penis to the mother in an attempt
touching it (as in the case of Little Hans [6, pp. 162, 163, 166])
and the senses danger, emanating from mother or father or
ego
the ego may try to avoid
both, as a likely outcome of such an act,
the danger and yet to achieve the pleasure by altering the new
impulse into an old version. Thus, sitting on mother's lap and
of being pleasurably touched
being embraced by her is a way
which one has found safe by previous experience, or inducing
her to give one a bath requires that she legitimately wash and
d ry hence touch one's genitals.
It is device of regression which doubtless gave Freud
this
the strong impression that libido is an energy whose manifesta-
tions in stages or levels, since old manifestations become
develop
new ones and since the tendency toward new mani-
replaced by
festations can give place to recurrences of
older manifestations
when difficulties arise. Certainly he was here correctly observing
a general psychic principle to the effect that when new behavior
is attempted and for whatever reason fails
or seems destined to
fail of its purposed goal, it is wise to have recourse to something

tried and true. Folk wisdom expresses the conflict in two anti-
thetic proverbs: "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again,"
and "Let sleeping dogs lie."

Astudy of the antitheses frequently observed

in folk wis-

dom has still to be made and would probably prove both inter-
esting and profitable. Proverbs,
which are the vehicles of folk
wisdom, often exist in opposites, such as the pair just mentioned,

and indicate the existence of frequent conflict with respect to

many proposed modes of behavior. Another antithesis: "Make

hay while the sun shines" do it now; "Don't cross the bridge
off until tomorrow. From the view-
until you come to it" put it

point of common
sense, the fact that mutually contradictory
the
proverbs often occur has no very profound meaning: beyond
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 71

idea that, no form of adaptative behavior has universal

applica-
tion and that people have learned to fit their behavior to differ-
ent situations as they apperceive them. From the viewpoint, how-
ever, of unconscious psychic functioning, which often, as we
have learned, transcends common sense, these antitheses of folk
proverbs may have a significance similar to that of word-pairs
which have antithetic meaning but derive from the same etymo-
logic roots [1], This significance is the existence of profound
unconscious conflict with reference to all potential modes of
behavior in important matters: it indicates the deep uncertainty
with which individuals approach meaningful situations. With
reference to the ego's defensive device of regression, the conflict
lies between doing something new which may be dangerous
and doing something old which is known to be safe. If the
uncertainty is resolved by adopting the latter behavior, the ego
has altered the impulse by regression.
Whether the general principle which is implied by the antithetic
proverbs and word-pairs supports the idea that, because libidinal
manifestationsshow the possibility of regression, they therefore
normally "develop" in a series of stages, is quite another matter,
depending upon what is postulated concerning the libido and its
manifestations.
The devices of the ego thus far mentioned have the common
quality of being auto plastic. They are self-molding devices and
attempt to adapt to the environment and its potential dangers
by producing alterations in the organism's own impulses. The
impulses may be disowned or postponed (repression in vary-
ing degrees), or they may be replaced by opposite impulses if
such exist in their own right (reaction-formation), or they may
be replaced by older and safer forms of the original impulses
(regression).
One may also speak of another group of ego-devices which
differ from those just enumerated by being alloplastic, or other-
molding. These seek to alter the environment rather than the self
and they comprise, doubtless among others, the three maneuvers
that I have elsewhere described in detail [18, 19, 20]. I shall here
merely name them as the schizoid, the magical, and the trans-
ference maneuvers. To classify the two groups of devices as auto-
11 William V. Silverberg

plastic and alloplastic is convenient and is accurate in a general

sense. But it must be realized that the autoplastic devices are
also alloplastic in that their ultimate aim is to change the en-
vironment from a dangerous to a safe one, and that the allo-
plastic devices cannot be engaged in without producing certain
alterations in the self.
Theautoplastic and alloplastic devices may be further dis-
tinguished roughly in that the former are in the main oriented
toward defense, while the latter aie oriented toward achievement
of pleasure-goals. I characterize this as a rough distinction be-
cause both types of devices have ultimately a pleasure-goal in
view and because the alloplastic devices are often motivated by
concern with security and survival, and particularly with self-
esteem (which is the psychic version of security and survival).
In the most common instances, the autoplastic devices are

adopted because the ego senses that the organism is not safe con-
stituted as it is and that inner modifications are essential, whereas
the alloplastic devices, which are modes of attempting to alter
factors external to the organism itself, may operate with no im-
mediate purpose of producing inner modifications. The former
devices might be summed up in the sentence: "I am not safe as
I am; I'd better change myself"; while the latter might be ex-
pressed: "I am all right as I am; but I have to change him, her,
them, or it." Both are adopted in order that aggression may be
the more effective and therefore that self-esteem may be main-
tained at the highest possible level. The ego's own survival (self-
esteem) corresponds to the survival of the total organism, when
the latter is at stake. When it is not, when somatic survival is not
involved in the organism's doing, then what is involved is home-
ostasis, whether described as psychic, somatic, or psychosomatic.
When not confronted with emergencies that threaten life, the ego's
chief concern is to maintain a high level of competence and
thus to avoid illness, whether this takes the form of low self-
esteem or a bodily deficiency that impairs competence in doing.
Psychic illness, then, implies illness of the ego low self-es-
teem primarily occasioned by a diminution in the effectiveness
of aggression. All of the ego's defensive devices, which are orig-
inally used to promote and improve this effectiveness, indicate
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 73

that the ego does not feel itself strong enough or safe enough to
pursue the organism's aim directly; hence, the devices emerge
in an indirection which not only signalizes a relatively weak ego,
but which in itself further weakens the ego. The strength of the
ego the degree to which it is at one with the remainder of
lies in

its ownorganism. Freud [10, p. 141] pointed out that the differ-
entiation into ego and id signifies a defect in the human psyche,
by which he meant that the human psyche functions poorly in so
far as it is at war with itself, and that this differentiation would
not have occurred had not the psyche at an early stage of its ex-
istence fallen into inner conflict. Since this differentiation never
fails to occur even in the healthiest human being, a certain inner
psychic disunity seems inevitable in everyone. If the very exist-
ence of an ego implies some degree of psychic disunity, the
strength of the ego must always be seen as a relative strength: it
ismore or less at one with the remainder of its organism.
Whether an ego may rightly be considered as inherently or
constitutionally strong or weak, is a problem about which we are
in such profound ignorance that we cannot even propound the
question in a form that might evoke responses, nor have we any
idea what factors such constitutional strength or weakness might
relate to. Our ignorance is here so complete that any statement

concerning the constitutional strength or weakness of the ego

would be begging the question and would necessarily reflect, not
truth, but one's Weltanschauung. The very question may in itself
be a species of non sequitur since, from a strictly biologic point
of view, the ego should not even exist (if the emergence of the
ego is to be regarded as a psychobiologic defect) .

It is best to leave untouched this question of a constitutional,

inherent quality of the ego. We can only know that, regardless

of such a factor, the specific experiences of the organism in its
specific environment appear closely related to the ego's necessity
to adopt devices of indirection, to the extent to which these are

adopted in general, and to the specific nature of these devices in a

given case. Likewise related to specific experiences is the matter
of whether a given device is temporarily adopted, to be later
abandoned, or whether it becomes permanently characteristic of
the given ego. We may say, then, that the ego becomes weak or
74 William V. Silverberg

strong (perhaps we should say weaker or stronger, supposing

constitutional factors to exist) as a result of what its organism
specifically experiences. It grows to be less at one with the re-
mainder of the psyche (more conflicted) or more at one (less
conflicted), depending upon its life-situation, which, in early
life, is mainly the situation presented by the human environment

(the biologic family, in our society) .

It is unnecessary to labor here the factor of cultural relativity.

It by now well known from Sullivan's postulates on inter-
is

personal relations, and from the pioneering work of A. Kardiner

[13, 14] that different societies (geographically as well as tem-
porally different) evolve markedly varied forms and that each
society attempts to mold its denizens to its own specific form.
Kardiner's concept of basic personality implies that what is "nor-
5 *
mal" or well-adapted personality in one culture is "pathologic
or maladapted personality in another.
In the consideration of the kind of experience that favors
growth or diminution of ego-strength equivalent, respectively,
to psychic health or psychic illness (neurosis) I shall be con-

cerned solely with our own culture. By "our own culture" I mean
specifically the American culture. This may be at times extended
to include the contemporary culture of western civilization as a

whole, or it may at times be narrowed down to the form of cul-

ture extant along the northern Atlantic seaboard of this country.
It is not always possible to be aware when one is being exces-
sively general in one's cultural assumptions and when one is

being too provincial.

References

[1] ABEL, KARL: Ueber den Gegensinn cTer Orworte. Reviewed by S. Freud in
Jahrb. f. Psychoanalytische Forschungen 4-349-352, 1910.

[2] BENDER, LORETTA: An observation nursery; a study of 250 pre-scliool

children on the psychiatric division of Bellevue Hospital. Am. /. Psychiat.
97:1158-1172, 1941. Infants reared in institutions permanently handi-
capped. Child Welfare League of America Bulletin 24:1-4, 1945.
There is no substitute for family life. Child Study (April) 1946.
Toward a Theory of Personality and Neurosis 75

Psychopathic Behavior Disorders in Children. In LINDER AND SELIGER:

Handbook of Correctional Psychology. New York, Philosophical Library,
1947.
Anxiety in Disturbed Children. In HOCH, P. H., and ZUBIN, j.: Anxiety,
New York, Grime & Stratton, 1950.
[3] BURROW, TRIGANT: Cited in MacCurdy, J. T.: Problems of Dynamic
Psychology. New York, The Macmillan Company, 1923, pp. 188 ff.

[4] FERENCZI, SANDOR: Entwicklungsstufen des Wirklichkeitssinnes (1913).

In Bausteine zur Psychoanalyse. Vienna, International Psychoanalytischer
Verlag, 1927, vol. 1.

[5] FRAZER, JAMES GEORGE: The Golden

SIR Bough. New York, The
Macmillan Company, 1951, abridged ed.

FREUD, SIGMUND: Analysis of a Phobia in a Five-year-old Boy (1909).

-
[6]
Collected Papers, Volume 3, 1925.

Notes upon an Autobiographical Account of a Case of Paranoia

-
.

[7]
(Dementia Paranoides) (1911). Collected Papers, Volume 3, 1925.

Formulations Regarding the Two Principles of Mental Func

-
:
[8]
tioning (1911). Collected Papers, Volume 4 (1925).

[9]
:
Beyond the Pleasure Principle. Transl. by C. J. M. Hubback
New York, Boni & Liveright, 1922.

Symptoms and by A.

-
:
Inhibitions, Anxiety. Transl. Strachey.
London, The Hogarth Press, 1936.

[11]
.
Civilization and Its Discontents. Transl. by J. Riviere. London,
The Hogarth Press, 1946.

[12] JUNG, c. G.: The Psychology of the Unconscious. Transl. by Beatrice

Hinkle. London, Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Company, Ltd., 1922.

[13] KARDINER, A.: The Individual and His Society. New York, Columbia

14]
-
University Press, 1939.

w jth the collaboration of Ralph Linton, Cora Du Bois, and

:

James West: The Psychological Frontiers of Society. New York, Columbia

1945.
University Press,

[15] ROBBINS, BERNARD s.: Escape into reality. Psychoanalyt. Quart. 6:353-
364, 1937.

[16] SELYE, HANS: Stress. Montreal, Acta, Inc., 1950.

[17] SILVERBERG, WILLIAM v.: On the origin of neurosis. Psychiatry 7:111

120, 1944
76 William V. Silverberg

[18] : The schizoid maneuver. Psychiatry 10:383-393, 1947.

[19]
.
The concept of transference. Psychoanalyt. Quart. 17:303-321,
1948.

[20] : The factor of omnipotence in neurosis. Psychiatry 12:387-398,

1949.

[21] SULLIVAN, HARRY STACK: Conceptions of Modern Psychiatry. Washington,

The William Alanson White Psychiatric Foundation, 1947. First pub-
lished in Psychiatry 3:1-117, 1940.
ERNST KRIS

Ego Psychology and Interpretation

In Psychoanalytic
Therapy*

While during half a century of its history the development of

psychoanalysis has been comparatively little influenced by simul-
taneous discoveries in other fields of science, the various appli-
cations of psychoanalysis have almost continuously influenced
each other. It is in this sense that the history of psychoanalysis
can be viewed as a progressive integration of hypotheses. The
clearestinterrelationship exists between clinical observations
and the development of both psychoanalytic technique and
theory [23, 24]. The development of the structural point of
view in psychoanalysis, i.e., the development of psychoanalytic
ego psychology, can profitably be traced in terms of such an
interdependence. Freud was at one point influenced by his col-
laborators in Zurich who impelled him to an intensified interest
in the psychoses. This led him to formulate the concept of nar-
cissism and thus to approach the ego not as a series of isolated
functions but as a psychic organization. The second group of
favored the development of a structural
clinical impressions that

psychology was the observation by Freud of individuals moti-

vated by an unconscious sense of guilt, and of patients whose
response to treatment was a negative therapeutic reaction. These
types of behavior reinforced his conception of the unconscious
*
Presented at the panel on Technical Implications of Ego Psychology at the
midwinter meeting of the American Psychoanalytic Association, New York,
December 1948. Reprinted by permission from the Psychoanalytic Quarterly,
Vol. 20, No. 1, 1951. Copyright, 1951, by The Psychoanalytic Quarterly, Inc
n
78 Ernst Kris

nature of self-reproaches and autopunitive tendencies, and thus

contributed to the recognition of important characteristics of
the superego. There is little doubt that other clinical impres-
sions to which Freud referred during these years were derived
from what we would today describe as "character neuroses*'
cases inwhose analyses the unconscious nature of resistance and
defense became particularly clear and which, therefore, facilitated
formulations of unconscious and preconscious functions of the
ego.
However, these events were not Nobody can be-
fortuitous.

lieve that the clinical impressions of which we speak reached

to the study of
Freud accidentally. Surely Freud did not turn
with Jung, or in response
psychoses merely to engage in polemics
to suggestions of Abraham; nor can it be assumed that his inter-
est in character neuroses was due only to an increase in the inci-
dence of character neuroses among his patients during the early
1920's, and hence to a "psychosocial" event [17] though it is
that such a change of frequency distribution occurred.
probable
It is obviously more sensible to assume that a readiness in the

observer and a change in the objects observed were interacting.

Freud's readiness for new formulations is perhaps best attested
by the fact that the principles of ego psychology had been antici-
pated in his Papers On Technique [18].
1
Most of these papers
were written contemporaneously with his first and never com-
pleted attempt at a
reformulation of theory, which was to be
2
achieved in the Papers On Metapsychology. The precedence
of technical over theoretical formulations extended throughout
Freud's development. It was evident during the 1890's when
3Freud reserved for himself the sec-
in the Studies in Hysteria
tion on therapy and not that on theory. Several years later,
when his interest in dreams and neuroses was syntheti/ed, and
the importance of infantile sexuality gained ascendancy, he was
first concerned with a modification of therapeutic procedure:
the "concentration technique" was replaced by the technique

1
Freud: Coll. Papers, II.
3
Freud: Coll. Papers, IV.
8
Freud (with Breuer) Studies in Hysteria. Translated by A. A.
: Brill. New
York: Nervous and Mental Disease Monographs, 1936.
 Psychology and Interpretation in Psychoanalytic Therapy 79

of free association [22]. Similarly, Freud's papers on technique

during the second decade of the century anticipate by implica-
tion what a few years later he was to formulate in terms of ego

psychology. His advice that analysis should start from the sur-
face, and that resistance be analyzed before interpreting content
implies principles basic in ego psychology. This accounts for
the status of Freud's papers on technique in psychoanalytic
literature: they have retained a pivotal position and most trea-
tises on technique have illustrated or confirmed rather than

modified his rare fundamental precepts. If one rereads Freud's

address to the Psychoanalytic Congress in Budapest in 1918 [11],
one becomes aware of the fact that many current problems con-
cerning the variation of technical precepts in certain types of
cases, as well as the whole trend of the development that at pres-
ent tries to link psychoanalytic therapy to psychotherapy in the
broader sense, were accurately predicted by Freud. The develop-
ment which he predicted became possible, however, through the
new ego psychology opened to the earliest and prob-
vistas that

ably systematized modifications of psychoanalytic tech-

best

niques, the development of child analysis by Anna Freud, the

psychoanalysis of delinquents by Aichhorn, and later to some
of the various modifications of technique in the psychoanalytic
treatment of borderline cases and psychoses.
Not only did ego psychology extensively enlarge the scope of
psychoanalytic therapy, but the technique of psychoanalysis of
the neuroses underwent definite changes under its impact. These
changes are part of the slow and at times almost imper-
ceptible process of development of psychoanalytic technique.
Isolated changes which constitute this development are difficult
to study because what one may describe as change can also be
viewed as difference, and differences in technique among ana-
lysts who share approximately the same fundamental views may
be due to many factors; however, if we study the trends of
changing attitudes, we are in a more favorable position.
Neither all nor most of the changes in psychoanalytic tech-
nique are consequences of the development of some aspect of
psychoanalytic theory. If we reread Freud's older case histories,
we find, for example, that the conspicuous intellectual indoctri-
30 Ernst Kris

nation of the Rat Man was soon replaced by a greater emphasis

on reliving in the transference, a shift which has
no apparent
direct relation to definite theoretical views. Similarly, better
understanding and management of transference was probably
not initially connected with any new theoretical insight. It was
a process of increasing skill, of improved ability, in which Freud
and his early collaborators shared, 4 not dissimilar to that process
of a acquisition of assurance in therapy
gradual
which character-
izes the formative decade in every analyst's development. But
other changes in psychoanalytic therapy can, I believe, clearly
be traced to the influence of theoretical insight. Every new
5

to some extent
discovery in psychoanalysis is bound to influence
therapeutic procedure. The value of clinical presentations is
that in listening to them we are stimulated to review our own
clinical experiences, revise our methods, and to profit in what

we may have overlooked or underrated from the experience of

others. To assess this influence of ego psychology it is necessary
to recall the ideas which developed synchronously with or sub-
the psychoanalytic
sequent to the new structural orientation:
to include aggression,
theory of instinctual drives was extended
and the series of ontogenetic experiences studied included in
ever greater detail precedipal conflicts deriving from the unique-
ness of the mother-child relation. A
historical survey of the
literature would, I believe, confirm that these
psychoanalytic
new insights were having reverberations in therapy, influencing,
however, mainly the content of interpretation and not the tech-
nique of therapy in a narrower sense.
A
gradual transformation
of technique came about largely through better understanding
and improvement in the handling of resistances. In interpret-

ing resistance we not only refer to its existence and determine

its cause, but seek also its method of operation which is then

Such a view is not uncontested. In describing her own development as an

*

analyst Ella Sharpe stresses the fact that only familiarity with the structural
to handle transference problems
concept, particularly the superego, enabled her
of his early technical vicissitudes
Adequately [31, p. 74]. For a similar report
see also Abraham [1].
This naturally does not apply to all individuals. The relation of theoretical
5

to analyst, and is no
insight to therapeutic procedure varies from analyst there^
evidence upon which to base ail opinion as to which type of relation is
optimal.
Ego Psychology and Interpretation in Psychoanalytic Therapy 81

reviewed in the context of other similar types of behavior as

part of the defensive activities of the ego. Resistance is no
longer simply an "obstacle" to analysis, but part of the "psychic
surface" which has to be explored. 6 The term resistance then
loses the unpleasant connotation of a patient who "resists" a

physician who is angry at the patient's opposition. This was the

manifestation of a change in what may be described as the
"climate" of analysis.
In one of his last papers Freud [12] defended analytic in-
terpretations against the reproach of arbitrariness especially in
dealing with resistance; he discussed in detail the criteria accord-
ing to which, by the patient's subsequent reaction, correctness
of the interpretations can be verified. In doing so he stresses
an area of cooperation between analyst and patient and implic-
itly warns against dictatorially imposed interpretations. 7 That
does not mean that it is possible or desirable always to avoid
opposition of the patient to any interpretation, but it means
that through the development of ego psychology a number of
changes in the technique of interpretation have come about
not "random" changes, characteristic of the work of some
analysts and not of others, but changes that constitute a set
of adjustments of psychoanalytic technique to psychoanalytic
theory.

Illustrations

To clarify issues, I cite first a simplified version of an incident

in the analysis of a six-year-old boy reported by Anna Freud [6,
visit to the dentist had been painful. During his
p. 119]. The
analytic interview the little boy displayed
a significant set of
actions related to this experience. He damaged or
symptomatic
These or similar formulations of the analysis of resistance were achieved in
two steps, in the writings of Wilhelm Reich [27, 28], and of Anna Freud [6].
The difference between them is significant. Reich regards the problem pre-

dominantly as one of technical "skill"; formulations tend to be oversimplified or

exaggerated. They lead to the rigorous "resistance" or layer analysis, the short-
comings of which have been criticized by Hartrnann [18]. By Anna Freud,
resistance is fully seen as part of the defensive function of the ego.
7
[33] has further elaborated
Waelder this point
82 Ernst Kris

destroyed various objects belonging to the analyst, and finally

a set of pencils.
repeatedly broke off the points and resharpened
How is this type of behavior to be interpreted?
The interpretation may point to retaliatory castration, may
stress the turning of a passive experience into an active one, or
demonstrate that the little boy was identifying himself with
may
the dentist and aggression. All three interpretations
his can
naturally be related to the anxiety which he had experienced.
The choice between these and other possible interpretations will

depend on the phase of the analysis. The

first interpreta-
clearly
is directly aimed at the castration
tion, an "id interpretation,"
the third aim at mechanisms of
complex. The second and
The second emphasizes that passivity is difficult to
defense.
bear and that in assuming the active role
danger being mas- is

tered. The third interpretation implements the second by pointing

out that identification can serve as a mechanism of defense. It
might well prove to be a very general
mechanism in the little
boy's life. It may influence
him not only to react aggressively, 8
but to achieve many goals, and may be the motivation of many
aspects of his behavior. The interpretation that stresses the
mechanism of identification is, therefore, not only the broadest,
but it may also open up the largest number of new avenues, and

be the one interpretation which the little boy can most easily
apply in his self-observation. He might
learn to experience cer-
tain of his own reactions as "not belonging" (i.e., as symptoms)
and thus be led an important step on the way toward readiness
for further psychoanalytic work.
We did not choose this example to demonstrate the poten-
tialities of an interpretation aimed at making the use of a mecha-

nism of defense conscious, but rather in order to demonstrate

that the situation allows for and ultimately requires all three
interpretations. A relevant problem in technique consists in

establishing the way

best of communicating the full set of
meanings to the patient. The attempt to restrict the interpreta-
tion to the id aspect only represents the older procedure, the one

8
This is probably what Anna Freud means when she says that the child was
not identifying himself "with the oerson of the aggressor but with his aggres-
sion."
Ego Psychology and Interpretation in Psychoanalytic Therapy 83

which we believe has on the whole been modified by the change

of which we speak. To restrict interpretation to the defense
mechanism only may be justifiable by the assumption that the
patient is not yet ready a valuable piece of caution, though it
seems that there is a tendency among some analysts to exaggerate
such caution at times. It may also happen that though we care-
fully restrict the range of interpretation the patient reacts as if
we had not done so. While our interpretation points to the
mechanism by which he wards off danger (e.g., identification) ,

the next set of associations causes the patient to react as if we

had interpreted his femininity. A
sequence of this kind indi-
cates normal progress: the interpretation concerns the warding-
9
off device, the reaction reveals the impulse warded off.
No truly experimental conditions can be achieved in which
the effects of alternative interpretations can be studied. Com-
parisons of "similar cases" or comparisons of patients' reactions
to "similar situations" help us to reach some useful generaliza-
tions. The occasional situation under which somewhat more

precise comparisons can be made is the study of patients who

have a second period of analysis with a different analyst. The
need for a second analysis is no disparagement of the first analyst,
nor does it imply that the first course of treatment was unsuc-
cessful. In several instances of reanalysis in which I functioned
as second analyst, the first analysis had been undertaken at a
time when the problems of ego psychology had not yet influ-
enced analytic technique, or by a colleague who (at the time)
did not appreciate its importance. The initial treatment had
produced considerable improvements, but the very same prob-
lems appeared in a new light, or new relationships, when inter-
pretations of a different kind, "closer to the surface," were
"inserted." In a few of the cases in which these conditions
existed, a published record of the first analysis was available and
furnished some reliable comparison.
At the time of his second analysis a patient, who was a young

9
Another apparent discontinuity or "jump" in reaction, no less frequent and
no important, is designated by what Hartmann calls "the principle of
less
multiple appeal" in interpretations [18]. Examples of this kind make the idea
of interpretation proceeding in layers, advocated by Wilhelrn Reich, highly
doubtful [27, 28]; see also in this connection Nunberg [26] and Alexander [2].
$4 Ernst Kris

scientist in his early thirties, successfully filled a respected aca-

demic position without being able to advance to higher rank
because he was unable to publish any of his extensive researches.
This, his chief complaint, led him to seek further analysis. He
remembered with gratitude the previous treatment which had
improved his potency, diminished social inhibitions, producing
a marked change in his life, and he was anxious that his resump-
tion of analysis should not come to the notice of his previous

analyst (a woman) lest she feel in any way hurt by his not return-

ing to her; but he was convinced that after a lapse of years he

should now be analyzed by a man.
He had learned in his first analysis that fear and guilt pre-
vented him from being productive, that he "always wanted to
take, to steal, as he had done in puberty." He was under con-
stant pressure of an impulse to use somebody else's ideas
frequently those of a distinguished young scholar, his intimate
friend, whose office was adjacent to his own and with whom
he engaged daily in long conversations.
Soon, a concrete plan for work and publication was about
to materialize, when one day the patient reported he had just
discovered in the library a treatise published years ago in which
the same basic idea was developed. It was a treatise with which
he had been familiar, since he had glanced at it some time ago.
His paradoxical tone of satisfaction and excitement led me to
inquire in very great detail about the text he was afraid to
plagiarize. In a process of extended scrutiny it turned out that
the old publication contained useful support of his thesis but
no hint of the thesis itself. The patient had made the author
say what he wanted to say himself. Once this clue was secured
the whole problem of plagiarism appeared in a new light. The
eminent colleague, it transpired, had repeatedly taken the pa-
tient's ideas, embellished and repeated them without acknowl-

edgment. The patient was under the impression he was hearing

for the first time a productive idea without which he could not

hope to master his own subject, an idea which he felt he could

not use because it was his colleague's property.
Among the factors determining the patient's inhibitions in
his work, identification with his father played an important part.
Ego Psychology and Interpretation in Psychoanalytic Therapy 85

Unlike the grandfather, a distinguished scientist, the father had

failed to leave his mark in his field of endeavor. The patient's
striving to find sponsors, to borrow ideas, only to find that they
were either unsuitable or could only be plagiarized, reproduced
conflicts of his earlier relationship with his father. The projec-
tion of ideas to paternal figures was in part determined by the
wish for a great and successful father (a grandfather) . In a
dream the oedipal conflict with the father was represented as
a battle in which books were weapons and conquered books were
swallowed during combat. This was interpreted as the wish to
incorporate the father's penis. It could be related to a definite
phase of infancy when, aged four and five, the little boy was
first taken as father's companion on fishing trips. "The wish

for the bigger fish," the memory of exchanging and comparing

fishes, was recalled with many details. The tendency to take,
to bite, to steal was traced through many ramifications and dis-
guises during latency and adolescence until it could be pointed
out one day that the decisive displacement was to ideas. Onl^
the ideas of others were truly interesting, only ideas one could
take; hence the taking had to be engineered. At this point of the
interpretation was waiting for the patient's reaction. The pa-
I

tient was and the very length of the silence had a special
silent

significance. Then, as if reporting a sudden insight, he said:

"Every noon, when I leave here, before luncheon, and before
returning to my office, I walk through X Street [a street well
known for its small but attractive restaurants] and I look at the
menus in the windows. In one of the restaurants I usually find
my preferred dish fresh brains."
It is now
possible to compare the two types of analytic ap-
proach. In his first analysis the connection between oral aggres-

siveness and the inhibition in his work had been recognized:

"A patient who during puberty had occasionally stolen, mainly
sweets or books, retained later a certain inclination to plagiarism.
Since to him activity was connected with stealing, scientific
endeavor with plagiarism, he could escape from these repre-
hensible impulses through a far-reaching inhibition of his ac-
tivityand his intellectual ventures" [30]. The point which the
second analysis clarified concerned the mechanism used in
86 Ernst Kris

inhibiting activity. The second

set of interpretations, therefore,

implemented the firstgreater concreteness, by the fact

by its

that it covered a large number of details of behavior and there-

fore opened the way to linking present and past, adult symp-
tomatology and infantile fantasy. The crucial point, however,
was the "exploration of the surface." The problem was to estab-
lish how the feeling, "I am in danger of plagiarizing," comes
about.
The procedure did not aim at direct or rapid access to the id
through interpretation; there was rather an initial exploratory
period, during which various aspects of behavior were carefully
studied. This study started on a descriptive level and proceeded
gradually to establish typical patterns of behavior, present and
10 Noted first were his critical and admiring attitudes of
past.
other people's ideas; then the relation of these to the patient's
own ideas and intuitions. At this point the comparison between
the patient's own productivity and that of others had to be
traced in great detail; then the part that such comparisons had
played in his earlier development could be clarified. Finally,
the distortion of imputing to others his own ideas could be ana-
lyzed and the mechanism of "give and take" made conscious.
The exploratory description is aimed, therefore, mainly at
uncovering a defense mechanism and not at an id content. The
most potent interpretative weapon is naturally the link between
this defense and the patient's resistance in analysis, an aspect
which in the present context will not be discussed in any detail.
The exploratory steps in this analysis resemble those which

10
The value of similar attempts at starting from careful descriptions has
been repeatedly discussed by Edward Bibring. I quote his views from a brief
report given by Waelder [32, p. 471]. "Bibring speaks of 'singling out' a
patient's present patterns of behavior and arriving, by way of a large number
of intermediate patterns, at the original infantile pattern. The present pattern
embodies the instinctual impulses and anxieties now operative, as well as the
ego's present methods of elaboration (some of which are stereotyped responses
to impulses and anxieties which have ceased to exist). Only by means of the
most careful phenomenology and by taking into consideration all the ego
mechanisms now operative can the present pattern of behavior be properly
isolated out. If this is done imperfectly ... or if all the earlier patterns are
not equally clearly isolated, there is a danger that we shall never arrive at a
correct knowledge of the infantile pattern and the result may well be an
inexact interpretation of infantile material."
Ego Psychology and Interpretation in Psychoanalytic Therapy 87

Helene Deutsch [3] describes in a strikingly similar case, in

which the unconscious tendency to plagiarize ideas of an ad-
mired friend led to so severe a memory disturbance that the
psychoanalytic method was used to eliminate fully the diagnosis
of neurological disease. Had it been possible to obtain material
from the childhood of Helene Deutsch's patient, we might have
been able to link similarities and dissimilarities in the early
history oi both men to the later differences in the structure of
their defenses and their 11
The mechanism
symptomatology.
described and made conscious in our patient's analysis, the id
impulse, the impulse to devour, emerged into consciousness and
further steps of interpretation led without constraint into the
area which the first analysis had effectively analyzed. It is
naturally not claimed that such procedures were altogether new
at the time. There surely always have been analysts who ap-

proach a problem of interpretation approximately as outlined

here. This type of approach has to some extent been systema-
tized by the support and guidance of ego psychology. It seems
that many more analysts now proceed similarly and that they
have gained the impression that such a shift in emphasis is thera-
12
peutically rewarding.

Planning and Intuition

One difference between older and newer methods of analyzing

defense mechanisms and linking "surface" and "depth" of psy-
choanalytic findings to each other deserves a more detailed dis-
cussion. The advance in theory has made the interrelations of
various steps in analytic work clearer and has thus facilitated
communication about these problems. We
can now teach more
u When analyzing the patient here discussed I was familiar with Deutsch's
paper. Without being consciously aware of it, I followed her example when
entering into the detailed examination of the patient's intellectual pursuits.
13
In the case here discussed the analysis was interrupted by the Second
World War. During its course the patient published at least one of the con-
tributions he had for a long time planned to publish. He intended to resume
analysis after the end of the war but contact with him could not be re-estab-
lished at the time. I have since heard that he has found satisfaction in his
home life and in his career.
88 Ernst Kris

accurately both the "hierarchy" and the "timing" of interpreta-

tions,and the "strategy" and "tactics" of therapy [25]. are, We
however, gradually becoming aware of many uncertainties in
this area. In speaking of hierarchy and timing of interpreta-

tions, and of strategy or tactics in technique, do we not refer

to a plan of treatment, either to its general outline or to one

adapted to the specific type of case and the specific prognosis?

How general or specific are the plans of treatment which indi-
vidual analysts form? At what point of the contact with the
patient do the first elements of such plans suggest themselves,
and at what point do they tend to merge? Under what condi-
tions are we compelled to modify such impressions and plans;
when do they have to be abandoned or reshaped? These are
some of the questions on which a good deal of our teaching in
psychoanalysis rests, and which are inadequately represented
in the literature. 13 The subject is of considerable importance
because in using checks and controls on prediction we could
satisfy ourselves as to the validity and reliability of tentative
forecasts of those operations on which analytic technique partly
14
depends.
The tendency to discuss "planning" and "intuition" as alterna-
tives in
analytic technique permeates psychoanalytic writings
though it has repeatedly been shown that such an antithesis is
unwarranted. 15 Theodor Reik's and Wilhelm Reich's unprofit-
able polemics against each other are liberally quoted in such
discussions. In my opinion not only this controversy but the
problem which it attempted to clarify is spurious. It is merely
13
See Fenichel [4J, Glover [14, 15], Sharpe [31] and particularly Lorand
[23] who some of these problems. A group of colleagues has started a
discuss
highly promising method of investigation. Long after graduation from super-
vised work, they continue regularly to consult with several others on some of
their cases over periods of years in order to make comparisons of the analytic
""style" among the consultants. It is to be hoped that this comparison will in-
clude the problem of prediction in analytic discussions.
u The idea of small teams working over a number of years
(with or without
institutional backing) seems rapidly to be gaining ground among analysts. The
comparison of technique in general and specifically the study of planning and
predicting might well be ideally suited to stimulate team work, which, if
adequately recorded, might prove to be of considerable documentary value.
3S
See Fenichel [4] ? and particularly Herold [19] and Grot aim [16], who
j

spaake similar points.

Ego Psychology and Interpretation in Psychoanalytic Therapy 89

to be what point preconscious thought processes

determined at
and determine his reaction, a question
in the analyst "take over"
which touches upon every analyst's personal experience. There
are some who are inhibited if they attempt consciously to for-
mulate the steps to be taken, with whom full awareness acts
as inhibition or distraction. There are those who at least from
time to time wish to think over what they are doing or have done
in a particular case, and others who almost incessantly wish to
know "where they are." No optimal standard can be established.
The idea, however, that the preconscious reactions of the analyst
are necessarily opposed to "planning" seems, in the present stage
of our knowledge about preconscious thought processes, to say
the least, outdated [21].
Once we assume that the optimal distance from full awareness
ispart of the "personal equation" of the analyst, the contribution
of preconscious processes gains considerable importance. 16 For
one thing, it guarantees the spontaneity that prompts an analyst
to say to a patient who showed considerable apprehension OB
the eve of a holiday interruption of analysis: "Don't trouble, I
shall be all right." Many may at first feel that Ella Sharpe [31,

p. 65], who reported this instance, had taken a daring step, and
that her unpremeditated short cut went too far. But on second
thought we may
conclude that, provided the patient had been
suitably prepared for the appearance of aggressive impulses
within the transference, the wit of the interpretation may have
struck home and created insight. Whether or not one approves
of such surprise effects and I confess my own hesitation it is
obvious that conscious premeditation could hardly bring them
about. But even those of us who do not share the ebullient mas-
tery of Ella Sharpe have reason to believe in the constructive
contribution of intuition. Let me briefly refer to a patient who
had been analyzed and whom I saw fifteen years after
as a child,
his first analytic experience had been interrupted through the
influence of a truly seductive mother who could no longer bear
to share the child with the child analyst. I was familiar with
some of the aspects of the earlier analysis. Some of the symp-
10
See Freud's description of these relationships in various passages of his
early papers [13, p. 334].
90 Ernst Kris

toms had remained unchanged, some had returned, particularly

prolonged states of sexual excitement, interrupted but hardly
alleviated by compulsive masturbation or its equivalents, which
in some cases led to disguised impulses toward exhibitionism.

Long stretches of the analysis were at first devoted to the details

of these states of excitement. It became
clear that they regu-

larly were initiated and concluded by certain eating and drink-

ing habits. The total condition was designated by the patient
and myself as "greed." In a subsequent phase phallic fantasies
about the seductive mother were gradually translated into oral
terms; the violent demand for love became a key that opened
up many repressed memories which had not been revealed dur-
ing the child's analysis. At one point, however, the process be-
gan to stagnate, the analysis became sluggish, when suddenly a
change occurred. During one interview the patient manifested
vivid emotions; he left the interview considerably moved and
reported the next day that "this time it had hit home." He now
understood. And as evidence he quoted that when his wife had
jokingly and mildly criticized him he had started to cry and,

greatly relieved, had continued to cry for many hours. What

had happened? In repeating the interpretation I had without
conscious premeditation used different terms. I did not speak
of his demand for love, but of his need for love or expressions
with a connotation which stressed not the aggressive but the
passive craving in his oral wishes. Intuition had appropriately
modified what conscious understanding had failed to grasp or,
to be kinder to myself, had not yet grasped. This instance may
serve to illustrate the necessary and regular interaction of plan-
ning and intuition, of conscious and preconscious stages of
understanding psychoanalytic material. It is my impression that
all advances in psychoanalysis have come about by such interac-

tions, which have later become more or less codified in rules of

technique.
Whenever we speak of the intuition of the analyst, we are
touching upon a problem which tends to be treated in the
psychoanalytic literature under various headings. refer to We
the psychic equilibrium or the state of mind of the analyst. One
oart of this problem, however, is directly linked to the process
 Psychology and Interpretation in Psychoanalytic Therapy 91

of interpretation. Many times a brief glance in the direction

of self-analysis is part and parcel of the analyst's intervention.
The interconnection between attention, intuition, and self-
analysis in the process of interpretation has been masterfully
described by Ferenczi [5]:
"One allows oneself to be influenced by the free associations
of the patient; simultaneously one permits one's own imagina-
tion to play on these associations; intermittently one compares
new connections that appear with previous products of the
analysis without, for a moment, losing sight of, regard for, and
criticism of one's own biases.

"Essentially, one might speak of an endless process of oscil-

lation between empathy, self-observation, and judgment. This
last,wholly spontaneously, declares itself intermittently as a
signal thatone naturally immediately evaluates for what it is;
only on the basis of further evidence may one ultimately decide
to make an interpretation."

References

[1] ABRAHAM, KARL: (1919) A Particular Form of Neurotic Resistance Against

the Psychoanalytic Method. In: Selected Papers on Psychoanalysis.
London: Hogarth Press, 1942. Second Edition.

[2] ALEXANDER, FRANZ: The Problem of Psychoanalytic Technique. Psycho-

analytic Quarterly, IV, 1935.

[3] DEUTSCH, HELENS: Uber bestiznmte Widerstarzdsformen. Int. Ztschr.

Psa. u. Imago, XXIV, 1939.

[4] FENICHEL, OTTO: Problems of Psychoanalytic Technique. Albany: The

Psychoanalytic Quarterly, Inc., 1941.

[5] FERENCZI, SANDOR: (1927) Die Elastizitat der psychoanalytischen

Technik. In: Bausteine zur Psychoanalyse, III. Bern: Hans Huber Verlag,
1939.

[6] FREUD, ANNA: (1936) The Ego and the Mechanisms of Defense. New
York: International Universities Press, 1946.

[7] FREUD, SIGMUND: (1910) The Future Prospects of Psychoanalytic Ther-

apy. Coll. Papers, Sx
92 Ernst Kris

The Dynamics of the Transference. Coll. Papers, II.

[8] :
(1912)
on the Psychoanalytic
(1912) Recommendations for Physicians
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[9]
Method of Treatment. Coll. Papers, II.

,
Further Recommendations on the Technique of
[10] :
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Psychoanalysis. Coll. Papers, II.

Ways of Psychoanalytic Therapy. Coll.

(1918) Turnings in the
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[11]
Papers, II.

Coll. Papers, V,
[12] :
(1937) Constructions in Analysis.

[13]
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Aus den Anfangen der Psychoanalyse. London: Imago Pub-
lishing Co., Ltd., 1950.

Int.
[14] GLOVER, EDWARD: Lectures on Technique in Psychoanalysis. J. Psa.,

VIII and IX, 1927 and 1928.

: An Investigation of the Technique of Psychoanalysis.

Research
[35]
Supplement No. 4 to the Int. J. Psa., 1940.

[16] GROTJAHN, MARTIN: About the Third Ear in Psychoanalysis. Psa. Rev.,

XXXVII, 1950.

[17] HALLIDAY, JAMES L.: Psychosociai Medicine. New York: W. W. Norton

& Co., Inc., 1948.

[18J HARTMANN, HEINZ: Technical Implications of Ego Psychology. Psycho-

analytic Quarterly, XX, 1951.

[39] HEKOLD, CARI. M. : A Controversy About Technique. Psychoanalytic

Quarterly, VIII, 1939.

[20] KRIS, ERNST: On Inspiration. Int. J. Psa., XX, 1939.

[21]
: On Preconscious Mental Processes. Psychoanalytic Quarterly,
XIX, 1950.

[22j
: Introduction to Freud: Aus den Anfangen aer Psychoanalyse,

[23] LORAND, SANDOR: Technique of Psychoanalytic Therapy. New YorK:

International Universities Press, 1946,

; Comments on Correlation of Theory and Technique. Psycho-

j24j
analytic Quarterly, XVII, 1948.

[25] LOEWENSTEIN, RUDOLPH M.: The Piottem of Interpretation. Psycho-

analytic Quarterly, XX, 1951.

j^6j NUNBERG, HERMAN: On the Theory of Therapeutic Results of Psycho-

analysis. Int. J. Psa., XVIII, 1937.
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[27] REICH, WILHELM: (1928) On Character Analysis. In: The Psychoanalytic

Reader. Edited by Robert Fliess. New York: International Universities
Press, 1948.

(1933) Character Analysis. New York: Orgone Institute Press,

[29] REEK, THEODOR: Surprise and the Psychoanalyst. New York: E. P. Dutton
& Co., 1937.

[30] SCHMIDEBERG, MELiTTA: Intelkktudle Hemmung und Ess-stoning.

Ztschr.f. psa. Pad., VIII, 1934.

[31] SHARPE, ELLA p.: (1930) The Technique of Psychoanalysis. In: Col-
lected Papers on Psychoanalysis. London: Hogarth Press, 1950.

[32] WAELDEX., ROBERT: The Problem of the Genesis of Psychical Conflict iir

Earliest Infancy. Int. J. Psa., XVIII, 1937.

[33] : Kriterien der Deutung. Int. Ztschr. f. Psa. u. Imago, XXIV.

1939.
 Anxiety

Freud was the first to identify anxiety as the centred problem

in neurosis. A
study of the changes in our understanding of the
nature and significance of anxiety demonstrates the developing
trends in psychoanalytic thinking. The paper by May describes
the changes through which Freud's observations passed, from
the original formulation on a solely physiological basis to the
later conception of anxiety as a response to the danger from
significant figures as a result of libidinal desires. The danger
from the significant persons was the threat of castration (in the
male); later the danger was internalized as fear of the individual's
own conscience, or social anxiety. The paper by Fromm-Reich-
mann elaborates on the role of anxiety in interpersonal related-
ness, and its place in the fabric of our social structure.
 8

ROLLO MAY
Freud's Evolving Theories

of Anxiety*

Though others, like Kierkegaard, had preceded Freud in recog-

nizing the crucial importance of the problem of anxiety in
understanding human behavior, Freud was the first in the
scientific tradition to see the fundamental significance of the

problem.
1
More specifically, he directed attention to anxiety as
the basic question for the understanding of emotional and psy-
*
Reprinted by permission from The Meaning of Anxiety (New York,
1950). Copyright 1950 by The Ronald Press Company.
1
Freud stands in the line of those explorers of human nature of the
nineteenth century -including Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Schopenhauer who re-
discovered the significance of the irrational, dynamic, "unconscious" elements
in (Cf. Thomas Mann, Freud, Goethe, Wagner [New York r
personality.
1937].) These aspects of personality had tended to be overlooked and in
many ways suppressed by the rationalistic preoccupations of most Western
thinking since the Renaissance. Though Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, and Freud
attacked the rationalism of the nineteenth century for different reasons, they
had in common the conviction that the traditional modes of thought omitted
elements vital for the understanding of personality. The so-called irrational
springs of human behavior had been left outside the accepted area of scientific
investigation or lumped under the so-called instincts. Freud's reaction against
the endeavors of academic medicine of his day to explain anxiety by "de-
scribing the nerve-pathways by which the excitations travel" and his conviction
that the methods of academic psychology of his day yielded little or no help
in the dynamic understanding of human behavior which he sought can be
understood, it seems to this writer, in this light. At the same time, Freud felt
himself to be an enthusiastic champion of science in his avowed intention
of making the "irrational" elements in behavior explicable in terms of his.
broader concept of scientific method. That he carried over into his work some
of the presuppositions of the nineteenth century traditional (physical) science
is illustrated in his libido theory, which will be commented on below.

97
98 Rollo May
chological disorders; anxiety, he notes in his later essay devoted
to this topic, is the "fundamental phenomenon and the central
2
problem of neurosis."
Students of dynamic psychology would no doubt agree that
Freud is the pre-eminent explorer of the psychology of anxiety,
that he both showed the way and gave many of the most efficacious

techniques for the understanding of the problem, and that there-

fore his work is of classic importance even though it is now
widely believed that many of his conclusions must be qualified
and reinterpreted. To study Freud on anxiety is to become aware
that his thinking on the topic was in process of evolution

throughout his life. His theories of anxiety underwent many

minor changes as well as one revolutionary change. Since anxiety
is so fundamental a question, it cannot be given any simple

answers; and Freud significantly confesses in his last writings

that he is still presenting hypotheses rather than a "final solution"
to the problem. 3 Therefore we shall endeavor in this survey not

only to present Freud's central insights and his innumerable

observations into the mechanics of anxiety, but also to plot
the directions in which his concept of anxiety was evolving.
To begin with, Freud makes the customary distinction be-
tween fear and anxiety which we have already noted in the work
of Goldstein and others. Freud holds that in fear the attention is
directed to the object, whereas anxiety refers to the condition
of the individual and "ignores the object." 4 To him the more

2
The problem of anxiety, trans. H. A. Bunker (American eel; New York,
1936), p. 111.
8
New introductory lectures in psychoanalysis (New York, 1933), p. 113.
*
Genera/ introduction to psychoanalysis, p. 343. Beyond this brief dis-
tinction, Freud does not either in the chapter on anxiety in the General
introduction to psychoanalysis or in his later Problem of anxiety throw much
illumination on the problem of fear as such. He treats Stanley Hall's list of
allegedly innate fears, such as fear of darkness, fear of bodies of water, of
thunder, etc., as phobias, which are by definition expressions of neurotic
anxiety. In a summary of Freud's views in W, Healy, A. F. Bronner, and
A. M. Bowers, The structure and meaning of psychoanalysis (New York,
1930), p. 366, a distinction between real fear and neurotic fear is made which
is parallel to Freud's distinction between real and neurotic anxiety. Real fear,

it is stated, is the reaction to an objective danger, whereas neurotic fear is the

"fear of an impulse claim," Freud is interpreted as holding that "three

practically universal childhood fears" fear of being alone, fear of darkness,
and the fear of strangers arise out of the "unconscious Ego's fear of loss of
Freud's Evolving Theories of Anxiety 99

between objective (what we would term

significant distinction is
"normal") and neurotic anxiety. The former, "real" anxiety, is
the reaction to an external danger; he conceives it as a natural,
rational,and useful function. This objective anxiety is an ex-
pression of the "instincts of self-preservation," "The occasions
of it, the objects or situations about which anxiety is felt,
i.e.,

will obviously depend to a great extent upon the state of the per-
son's knowledge and feeling of power regarding the outer
world." 5 This "anxious readiness," as Freud terms objective
anxiety, an expedient function, since it protects the individual
is

from being surprised by sudden threats (frights) for which he

is unprepared. Objective anxiety does not in itself constitute a
clinical problem. But any development of anxiety beyond the
initial prompting to survey the danger and make the best prep-

aration for flight is inexpedient: it paralyzes action. "The anx-

ious readiness therefore seems to me the expedient element,
and the development of anxiety the inexpedient element, in
what we call anxiety or dread." 6 It is, of course, this develop-
ment of anxiety in amounts out of proportion to the actual dan-
ger, or even in situations where no ostensible external danger
exists, which constitutes the problem of neurotic anxiety.

Freud's First Theory: Anxiety as Repressed Libido. 7 How is

itpossible, Freud asks in his early writing, to bring the phe-
nomenon of neurotic anxiety into logical relationship with
objective anxiety? In the endeavoi to answer this question he
cites his observations in clinical work. He had noticed that pa-
tients who exhibit inhibitions or symptoms of various sorts are

often remarkably free from overt anxiety. In phobias, for ex-

ample, the patient exhibits an intense concentration of anxiety
on one point in his environment namely, the object of his
phobia but he is free from anxiety at other points in his en-

the protecting object, namely, the mother" Ibid. This is synonymous with
his definition of the source of anxiety in similar situations; apparently the
terms "fear" and "anxiety" are here used interchangeably, the former being the
term for the emergence of anxiety in specific form.
5
General introduction to psychoanalysis, p. 342.
Ibid., p. 343.
7
The first and second theories have to do with the mechanics, as contrasted
with the origins, of anxiety.
100 Rollo May
vironment. In obsessional acts, likewise, the patient seems to
be free of anxiety so long as he is permitted to carry out his act
in unmolested fashion, but as soon as he is prevented from
performing the obsessional act, intense anxiety appears. So,
Freud reasoned understandably, some substitutive process must
be occurring, i.e., the symptom must in some way be taking the
place of the anxiety. He observed at the same time that his

patients who experienced continual sexual excitation

which was
ungratified he cites cases of coitus interruptus, for one example
also exhibited a good deal of anxiety. Hence, he concluded,
the substitutive process occurring must be the interchange of
anxiety, or anxiety-equivalents in the form
of symptoms, for

unexpressed libido. He writes, "libidinal excitation disappears

and anxiety appears in place of it, both in the form of expectant
8
dread and in that of anxiety attacks and anxiety-equivalents."
Looking back from a later date on the observations which led
to this theory, Freud remarks, "I found that certain sexual prac-
tices, such as coitus interruptus, frustrated excitement,
enforced
abstinence, give rise to outbreaks of anxiety and a general pre-
disposition to anxiety which may be induced whenever, there-
fore, sexual excitation is inhibited, frustrated, or diverted in the
course ofits discharge in gratification. Since sexual excitement

isthe expression of libidinal instinctual impulses, it did not

seem rash to suppose that through the influence of such dis-
9
turbances the libido became converted into anxiety."
The first theory, therefore, states that when libido is repressed,
it becomes transformed into and then reappears as
anxiety,
free-floating anxiety or as an anxiety-equivalent (symptom).
"Anxiety is thus general current coin for which all the affects are
exchanged, or can be exchanged, when
the corresponding idea-
10 When an affect is
tional content is under repression.*' repressed,
its fate is "to be converted into anxiety, no matter
what quality
of affect it would otherwise have been had it run a normal
course." 13L
The source of the child's anxiety at missing his

8
General introduction to psychoanalyse, p. 348.
"The problem of anxiety (American ed.; New York, 1936), pp. 51-52.
10
General introduction to psychoanalysis, p. 3 50.

rbiU, p. 355.
Freud's Evolving Theories of Anxiety 101

mother, or at the appearance of strange people (which represents

the same danger situation as missing the mother, since the pres-
ence of the strange people signifies the mother's absence), lies
in the fact that the child cannot then expend his libido towards
the mother, and the libido is "discharged through being converted
into anxiety." 12

Recalling that objective anxiety is a flight-reaction to external

danger, Freud asks what the individual is afraid of in neurotic
anxiety. The latter, he answers, represents a flight from the
demands of one's own libido. In neurotic anxiety "the ego is
attempting a flight from the demands of its libido, and is treat-
ing this internal danger as if it were an external one." "Re-

pression an attempt at flight on the part of the ego from libido

is

which it feels to be dangerous: the phobia (for example) may be

compared to a fortification against the outer danger which now
stands for the dreaded libido." 13 To summarize Freud's first
theory of neurotic anxiety: the individual experiences Hbidinal
impulses which he interprets as dangerous, the Hbidinal impulses
are repressed, they become automatically converted into anxiety,
and they find their expression as free-floating anxiety or as symp-
toms which are anxiety-equivalents.
This first endeavor of Freud's to formulate a theory of anxiety
is undeniably based initially on observable clinical phenomena:

everyone has noticed that when strong and persistent desires

are held in check or repressed, the individual will often exhibit
chronic restlessness or various forms of anxiety. But this is a
phenomenological description, which is a quite different thing
from a causal explanation of anxiety as Freud himself was
later to acknowledge. Furthermore, the phenomenon of sexual
repression resulting in anxiety is by no
means consistent; the
"frank libertine," as Mowrer puts it, may be a very anxious
bear a great deal
person, and many well-clarified persons may
of sexual abstinence without anxiety. On the positive side, this
firsttheory does have the value of emphasizing the intrapsychic
locus of neurotic anxiety. But the suggested mechanism of auto-
matic conversion of libido an attractive concept, perhaps chiefly
12
Ibid, p. 353.
18
Ibid, p. 355.
102 Rollo May
because it fits chemical-physiological analogies so handily is

highly dubious, as Freud himself was later to see. Some

of the

inadequacies of the first theory can best be seen by following

the clinical observations and reasoning which led Freud to re-
ject it.

Freud's Second Theory: Anxiety as the Cause of Repressions.

On later analysis of patients with phobias and other anxiety
with
symptoms, Freud found that a quite different process
respect to was occurring.
anxiety new theory was madeAneces-

sary, too, by
on the role of the ego,
his increasing emphasis
14
which had played only an auxiliary part in the first theory.
He demonstrates the analysis which led to the new theory
with the case of Hans, the five-year-old boy who refused to go
out into the street (the inhibition) because of his phobia of
horses (the symptom). Hans had considerable ambivalence
toward his father, which Freud explains in classical Oedipus
fashion. The little boy felt strong desires for the love of his
mother and consequent jealousy and hatred of his father. But at
the same time he was devoted to his father in so far as his
mother did not enter the picture as a cause of dissension. Because
of the father's strength, the aggressive impulses in Hans would
cue off anxiety. The hostility carries with it frightening possi-
bilities of retaliation, and it also involves the boy in continuous

ambivalence toward a father to whom he is at the same time

devoted; hence the hostility and related anxiety undergo repres-
sion. These affects are then displaced upon horses. Without

going into detail about the mechanism of phobia formation, we

wish only to make Freud's point that the phobia of horses is a
symptomatic representation of Hans's fears of his father. Freud
interpretsthis fear in typical castration terms: the fear of the
bite of the horse is fear of having the penis bitten off. "This
substitute formation [i.e., the phobia] has
two patent advan-
tages: first, that it avoids the conflict due to ambivalence, for the
father is an object who is at the same time loved; and secondly,

"The division of the mental personality into a super-ego, ego and id ...
of
has forced us to take up a new position with regard to the problem
anxiety." New introductory lectures, p. 118.
Freud's Evolving Theories of Anxiety 103

that it allows the ego to prevent any further development of

15
anxiety."
The crucial point in this analysis is that the ego perceives the

danger. This perception arouses anxiety (Freud speaks of the

"ego" arousing anxiety), and as an endeavor to avoid the anxiety
the ego effects the repression of the impulses and desires which
would lead the person into danger. "It is not the repression that
creates the anxiety," Freud now remarks against his first theory,
"but the anxiety is there first and creates the repression!" m
The same process holds symptoms and inhibitions:
true for other
the ego perceives the danger signal, and the symptoms and
inhibitions are then created in the endeavor to avoid the anxiety.
We may now, writes Freud, take the new view that the "ego
is the real locus of anxiety, and reject the earlier conception
that the cathectic energy of the repressed impulse automatically
becomes converted into anxiety." 17
A qualification is now also made by Freud in his earlier state-
ment that the danger feared in neurotic anxiety is that simply of
inner instinctual impulses. Speaking of Hans, he writes, "But
what sort of anxiety can it be? It can only be fear of a threatening
external danger; that is to say, objective anxiety. It is true that
the boy is afraid of the demands of his libido, in this case of
his love for his mother; so that this is really an instance of
neurotic anxiety. But this being in love seems to him to be an
internal danger, which he must avoid by renouncing his object,
only because it involves an external danger-situation [retaliation,
castration]." Though this interrelationship of external and in-
ternal factors was found by Freud in every case he investigated
during this later period, he confesses "that we were not prepared
to find that the internal instinctual danger was only a half-way
18
house to an external and real danger-situation."
15
The problem of anxiety, p. 80.
10
New
introductory lectures, p. 119.
17
The problem of anxiety, p. 22.
18
New introductory lectures, p. 120. This interrelationship between internal
and external factors, in Freud's viewpoint, can be demonstrated in terms of
conditioned-response psychology. If Hans were merely afraid of his father's
punishment (as an external danger), Freud would not call his anxiety neu-
rotic. The neurotic element enters because of the ego's perception of the

danger inherent in the internal instinctual promptings (Hans' s hostility toward

104 Rollo May
Manystudents of anxiety feel that this second theory, with its
emphasis on the ego function, makes possible a more adequate
out
description of the mechanics of anxiety. Symonds points
that the second theory is more compatible with other psychologi-
19 In similar
cal to the problem.
approaches vein, Homey holds
that whereas the first theory was essentially "physiochernical,"

the second "more psychological." In any case, the second

is
trends in Freud's
hypothesis evidences some clear and significant
be below.
understanding of anxiety, which will discussed

Origins of Anxiety. Freud states that the capacity for anxiety

is innate in the organism, that it is part of the self-preservation
instinct, and that it is phylogenetically inherited. In his words,
"we ascribe to the child a strong tendency to objective anxiety
and should regard it as only practical if this apprehensiveness
20
had been transmitted by inheritance." Specific anxieties, how-
ever, are taught: of genuine "objective
anxieties" by which
Freud means fear of climbing on window sills, fear of fire, etc.

"the child seems to bring very little into the world." And "it
isentirely due to training that real anxiety
does eventually awake
in him." 21 We
take this to mean that in Freud's viewpoint the
tendency to, or capacity for, anxiety is part of the individual's

his father, for example). Now it is well known that inner promptings in the
individual's experience can come easily to stand for external, objective dangets.
If hostility toward the parent is met by retaliation, the child will soon be

conditioned to experience anxiety whenever the hostile promptings arise intra-

psycliically.
"internal" or "ex-
It questionable whether one ever encounters purely
is

ternal" organism's behavior and whether, therefore, some

factors in a given
falsification is not involved in the use of these terms. This query will be
dealt with more fully below.
Symonds, The dynamics of human adjustment, op.
10 eft.

^General introduction psychoanalysis, p. 353. Whether capacities or

to
traits can logically be said to be "phylogenetically
inherited" is, of course,
in Chapter 3 of this book [The Meaning of
questionable. See Goldstein
writer whether the phy-
Anxiety, pp. 48-57]. It is doubtful to the present
logenetic concept is useful except in terms of transmission via culture.
21
Freud takes maturation into account: "A certain predisposition to
Ibid.
It is not at its maximum
anxiety on the part of the infant is indubitable.
immediately after birth, to diminish gradually thereafter, but first makes its
appearance later on with the progress of psychic development, and persists
over a certain period of childhood." The .problem ot anxiety, p. 98.
Freud's Evolving Theories of Anxiety 105

innate capacity, whereas the specific forms this anxiety will take
are due to learning.
Beyond the above general statement, Freud finds the origin
of anxiety in the birth trauma and fear of castration. These two
concepts are interwoven and progressively reinterpreted in his
writings. The which comes with anxiety, Freud holds in
affect
his early lectures, a reproduction and repetition of some par-
is

ticular very significant previous experience. This he believed to

be the birth experience "an experience which involves just
such a concatenation of painful feelings, of discharges and excita-
tion, and of bodily sensations, as to have became a prototype for
all occasions on which life is endangered, ever after to be re-

produced agcdn in us as the dread or 'anxiety' condition." He

adds, foreshadowing his later broadening of the birth concept,
"It is very suggestive too that the first anxiety state arose on the
occasion of the separation from the mother." 22 The child's hav-
ing anxiety at the appearance of strange people and its fears of
darkness and loneliness (which he terms the first phobias of the
child) have their origin in dread lest the child be separated from
his mother.
It isan important question, in reviewing Freud's later writ-
ings, how
far he was considering the birth experience as a literal
source of anxiety, to be cued off by later danger situations, and
how far he regarded it as a prototype in a symbolic sense, i.e.,
symbolic for separation from the loved object. Since he places
great emphasis on castration as the specific source of anxiety

underlying many neuroses, he is at pains to explain how castra-

tion and the birth experience are interrelated. We shall, there-

fore, now investigate how he

progressively reinterprets and in-
terrelates castrationand the birth experience page by page in
his chief essay on anxiety. 23 Speaking of the danger underlying
the development of phobias, conversion hysteria, and compulsion
neuroses, he notes, "in all these, we assume castration anxiety
24 Even fear
as the motive force behind the struggles of the ego."

22
General introduction to psychoanalysis, p. 344.
28
The problem of anxiety.
* Ibid., p. 75.
106 Rollo May
of death is castration, since no one has actually
an analogue of
experienced death but everyone has experienced a castration-like
experience in the loss of the mother's breast in weaning.
He
then speaks of the danger of castration "as a reaction to a loss,

to a separation," of which the prototype is the birth experience.

But he of Rank's too specific deduction of anxiety and
is critical

consequent neurosis from the severity of the birth trauma.

In
reaction against Rank, he holds that the danger situation in birth
is "the loss of the loved (longed for) person," and the "most

basic anxiety of all, the 'primal anxiety' of birth, arises in con-

25 Castration he now
nection with separation from the mother."
relates to the loss of the mother by Ferenczi's reasoning: the
loss of the genital deprives the individual of the means of later
reunion with the mother (or mother substitute). Fear of cas-
tration later develops into dread of conscience, i.e., social anxiety;
now the ego is afraid of the anger, punishment, loss of love of
the superego. The final transformation of this fear of the super-
26
ego consists of death anxiety.
Thus we are presented with a hierarchy: fear of loss of the
mother at birth, loss of the penis in the phallic period, loss of
the approval of the superego (social and moral approval) in the
latency period, and finally loss of life, all of which go back to the
prototype, the separation from the mother. All later anxiety
occasions "signify in some sense a separation from the mother," 27
which must mean that castration stands for the loss of a prized
object of value, in the same sense as birth stands for the loss
of the mother. Another datum which impelled him to interpret
castration in a nonliteral fashion was the fact that the female
sex, "certainly more predisposed to neurosis," as he remarks,
cannot suffer literal castration because of the absence of a penis
to begin with. In the case of women, he states that anxiety arises
over fear of the loss of the love of the object (mother, husband)
rather than loss of the penis.
Though one cannot be certain as to how far Freud was re-
garding the birth experience and castration literally and how
25
Ibid., pp. 99-100.
20
Ibid., p. 105.
27
Ibid., p. 123.
Freud's Evolving Theories of Anxiety 107

far symbolically, we submit that the trend in Freud's reasoning

cited above is toward an increasingly symbolic interpretation.
To is a positive trend. With respect to
the present writer this
castration, there legitimately be considerable question as to
may
whether literal castration is a source of anxiety on any wide
scale. We
suggest that castration is a culturally determined sym-
bol around which neurotic anxiety may cluster. 28
With respect to the birth trauma, we regard Freud's increas-
ingly symbolic interpretation also as a positive trend. It is still
an open question in experimental and clinical psychology how
far the severity of the birth experience is a literal source of later
29 But even if the actual birth
anxiety. experience cannot be
accepted as the source of anxiety in literal fashion, it would
certainly be widely agreed that the infant's early relations with
its mother, which so intimately condition both its biological and

psychological development, are of the greatest significance for

later anxiety patterns. Hence the present writer wishes to em-

phasize that facet of Freud's thought which holds that anxiety

has its source, as far as a primal source is reactivated in later

neurotic anxiety, in the fear of premature loss of or separation

28
Since castration and other aspects of the Oedipus situation are so im-
portant in Freudian discussions of anxiety, another question may be raised.
Does not neurotic anxiety arise around castration or the Oedipus situation
only when there are prior disturbances in the relationship between parents
and child? To illustrate in the case of Hans, are not the boy's jealousy and
consequent hatred of his father themselves the product of anxiety? Apparently
Hans had exclusive needs for his mother, needs which her loving the father
would threaten. Are not such needs (which may fairly be termed excessive)
in themselves an outgrowth of anxiety? It may well be true that the conflict
and anxiety leading to the particular phobic construction which Freud analyzes
are specifically related to ambivalence and hostility toward the father. But we
submit that this hostility and ambivalence would not have developed except
as Hans was already in a disturbed relationship with his mother and father
which produced anxiety and led to exclusive demands for his mother. One can
understandably hold that every child experiences clashes with its parents in its

development of individuality and autonomy (vide Kierkegaard, Goldstein,

etc.), but in
the normal child (defined as the child in a relationship to its
parents which is not characterized by pronounced anxiety) such clashes do
not produce neurotic defenses and symptoms. It is here suggested, in fine,
that Oedipus situations and castration fears do not emerge as problems i.e.,

do not become the foci of neurotic anxiety unless prior anxieties already
exist in the family constellation.
20
For discussion of the possible relation between Mrth and anxiety, sea
Symonds, op. cit.
108 Rollo May
from the mother (or mother's love), and thence fear of the loss
of subsequent values. Indeed, in the development and clinical
application of Freudian theory, this interpretation is widely made,
often in the form of the primal source of anxiety as being re-
30
jection by the mother.

Trends In Freud's Theories of Anxiety. Since we are con-

cerned with the evolution of Freud's understanding of anxiety,
we summarize certain directions in which his thinking was
shall
31
moving from his earlier to his later writings on anxiety, First,
in respect to the role of libido in anxiety. There is evidenced in

Freud a trend toward removing the libido theory from the pri-
to a secondary
mary position in his understanding of anxiety
position. Whereas the earlier theory of anxiety was almost
wholly a description of what happened to libido (it was an "ex-
clusively economic interpretation," Freud remarks),
in his later

writing he states that he is now not so much interested in the

fate of the libido.His second theory still presupposes the libido
concept, however: the energy which becomes anxiety is still
libido withdrawn from the cathexis of repressed libido, the ego

performs its repressive functions by means of "desexualized"

libido,and the danger faced (to which anxiety is the reaction)
is "economic disturbance brought about by an increase
the
32
in stimuli demanding some disposition be made of them."

80
Cf. D. M- Levy: "[The] most potent of all influences on social
. . .

behavior is derived from the primary social experience with the mother/'
Maternal over-protection, Psychiatry, 1, 561 ff. Grinker and Spiegel, whose
viewpoint represents a development of Freudianism, point out in their study
of anxiety in combat airmen that fear or anxiety will not develop unless the
value or object that is threatened in combat is "something that is loved,
highly prized, and held very dear." This may be a person (one's self or a
loved one) or a value like an abstract idea. Men under stress (Philadelphia,
1946), p. 120. We
here suggest, in line with Freud's discussion above, that
the primal form of the prized person is the mother and that the capacity to
and values is a development from this first prototype.
prize other persons
81
This approach plotting the trends in Freud's thinking is fitting in the

it was changing and developing

respect that Freud's thinking was germinal;
through most of his life. This makes dogmatism about his views of very
dubious worth; but the changing nature of his views also makes for ambiguity
in his writings. For example, at times Freud writes as though he had
completely rejected his first theory, but at other times as though he believed
it compatible, in a subsumed position, with the second theory.
113
The problem of anxiety, p. 100.
Freud's Evolving Theories of Anxiety 109

Though Freud retained the libido concept through all his writ-
ings, the trend isfrom a description of anxiety as an automatic
conversion of libido to a description of the individual perceiving
a danger and utilizing libido (energy) in coping with this dan-
ger. This trend accounts partially for the fact that Freud's
second theory presents a more adequate description of the
mechanism of anxiety. But the present writer questions whether
the secondary emphasis on the libido theory in Freud's later
writings on anxiety does not confuse the problem by its emphasis
on the individual as a carrier of instinctual or libidinal needs
which must be gratified. 33 The view taken in the present study
involves carrying the above trend in Freud's writing further in
the respect that libido or energy factors are seen not as given
economic quantities which must be expressed, but as functions
of the values or goals the individual seeks to attain as he relates
himself to his world.
A second trend is seen in Freud's conception of how anxiety
symptoms are formed. This trend is shown most vividly in the
reversal of his early view that repression causes anxiety to the
later view that anxiety causes repression. What this shift im-
plies is that anxiety and its symptoms are seen not as merely
the outcome of a simple intrapsychic process, but as arising out
of the individual's endeavor to avoid danger situations in his
world of relationships.
Another trend, with implications similar to that above, is
indicated in Freud's endeavor to overcome the dichotomy be-
tween '"internal" and "external" factors in the occasions of anxi-
ety. Whereas in the earlier theory
neurotic anxiety was viewed
as fear of one's own libidinous impulses, Freud later saw that
the libidinous impulses are dangerous because the expression of
them would involve an external danger. The external danger
was of only minor importance in the first theory when anxiety
could be viewed as an automatic intrapsychic transformation of

aa
The present writer agrees with those critics of the Freudian libido theory
who hold that the theory is a carry-over from nineteenth century physio-
chemical forms of thought. As an example of this physiochemical form of
Freud's thinking, the translator of Freud's latest work makes an analog*
between libido and an "electric charge." (An outline of psychoanalysis, trans
J. Strachey [New York, 1949],
p. 23.)
110 Rollo May
libido,but it became a pressing problem to him in the cases he
was analyzing in his later periods when he saw that the internal
danger danger from one's own impulses arose from the fact
that the individual was struggling against an ''external and real
danger-situation." This same trend toward seeing the anxious
individual in a struggle with his environment (past or present)
is indicated in the increasing prominence in Freud's later writ-

ings of the phrase "danger situation" rather

than merely "dan-
ger." In his early writings we are informed that the symptom
is developed to protect the individual from the demands of his

own libido. But in developing his second theory he writes, "One

might say, then, that symptoms are created in order to avoid

the development of anxiety, but such a formulation does not
go below the surface. It is more accurate to say that symptoms
are created in order to avoid the danger situation of which anx-
ietysounds the alarm." 34 Later in this same essay he notes, "We
have become convinced also that instinctual demands often
become an (internal) danger only because of the fact that their
gratification would bring about an external danger because,
therefore, this internal danger represents an external one." 35
Therefore the symptom is not merely a protection against inner
impulses: "For our point of view the relationships between
anxiety and symptom prove to be less close than was supposed,
the result of our having interposed between the two the factor
of the danger situation." 36 It may seem at first blush that we
are laboring a minor point in emphasizing this shift from "dan-
ger" to "danger situation," but we believe that it is by no means
an unimportant issue or a mere question of terminology. //
involves the whole difference between seeing anxiety as a more
or less exclusively intrapsychic process, on the one hand, and
M The problem of anxiety, p, 86. This is the point the present writer
makes with respect to the function of symptoms (see Chapters 3 and 8).
83
Ibid., p. 152.
80
Ibid., p. 112. Ininterpretations of Freudian theory the first em-
some
phasis of Freud made. Cf. Healy, Bronner, and Bowers: "Symptom-
is still

formation ... is now regarded as a defense against or a flight from anxiety"

Cf. the view advanced
(The structure and meaning of psychoanalysis, P- 411).
in Chapter 3 above, that the symptom is a protection from the anxiety-
creating situation.
Freud's Evolving Theories of Anxiety 111

the view that anxiety arises out of the individual's endeavor to

relate himself to his environment, on the other. In this second
view intrapsychic processes are significant because they are
reactions to, and means of coping with, the difficulties in the

interpersonal world. The trend in Freud is toward a more or-

ganismic view organismic being here defined as connoting a
view of the person in his constellation of relationships. But it is
well known that Freud never developed this trend to its logical
conclusions in terms of a consistent organismic and cultural
viewpoint. We believe he was prevented from doing so by
both his libido theory and his topological concept of person-
ality,
A final trend in Freud's thinking on anxiety is shown in his
increased emphasis on the topology of the psyche, arising out of
his division of the personality into superego, ego, and id. This
makes it possible for him to center more of his attention on anxi-
ety as being a function of the way the individual, via the ego,
perceives and interprets the danger situation. He remarks that
the phrase he employed in his earlier theory, "anxiety of the

id," is infelicitous since neither id nor superego can be said to

perceive anxiety. While this trend, like the others mentioned
above, makes Freud's later concepts of anxiety more adequate
and more understandable psychologically, we raise the question
as to whether this topology, when employed in any strict sense,
does not confuse the problem of anxiety. For example, Freud
speaks in his later writing of the ego "creating" repression after
it perceives the danger situation. Does not repression involve

unconscious ("id," in topological terms) functions as well? In-

deed, any symptom formation which is effective must involve
elements which are excluded from awareness, as Freud himself,
to admit. We suggest
despite his topology, would be the first
that repressions and symptoms can best be viewed as the organ-
ism's means of adjusting to a danger situation. While it is help-
ful and necessary to see in given cases that certain elements
are in awareness and others are excluded from awareness, the
strict application of the topology makes not only for inconsist-

encies in the theory but also shifts the attention away from the
112 JRollo May
real locus of the problem, namely the organism and its danger
situation. 37
Another application of his topology made by Freud which
in
reveals this problem is seen in his discussion of helplessness
anxiety. He holds that in neurotic anxiety the ego is made help-
less by its conflict with the id and superego. While the present
writer would agree that in all neurotic anxiety the individual is

engaged in intrapsychic conflict, a question arises as to whether

this conflict, rather than being a lack

of accord among ego,
and id, is not really a conflict between contradictory
superego,
values and goals the individual seeks to attain in relating him-
self to his interpersonal world. It is to be granted that certain
will be in awareness and others will be
poles of these conflicts
repressed, and it is also to be granted that in neurotic anxiety
are reactivated.
previous conflicts in the individual's life-history
But to our mind both the present and the previous conflicts are to
be seen not as between different "parts" of the personality but
as between mutually exclusive goals made necessary by the indi-
vidual's endeavor to adapt to a danger situation.

unnecessary to labor the point of Freud's far-reaching

It is

contributions to the understanding of anxiety. For the purposes

of the present discussion, these contributions consist chiefly in
the many-sided illumination he shed upon symptom formation,
in his emergent concern with the primal source of anxiety in the
its mother, and in his emphasis on
separation of the child from
the subjective and intrapsychic aspects of neurotic anxiety.

confusing implications of Freud's topology are seen in his tendencies

37
The
to think of the ego and the id as literally geographical regions in the
personality. In his last writing,
Outline of psychoanalysis (New York, 1949),
he refers to his "topographical" viewpoint, speaks of the ego as "developed
out of the cortical layer of the id" (p. 110), and uses such phrases as
"mental regions" (p. 15) and "the outermost cortex of the ego" (p. 41).
The present author believes that the equating of neurological areas with
psychological functions can be done only very loosely; the two
are never

literally equivalent. The tendency to locate the "ego

function" geographically
reminds the present author of the endeavors of Descartes and others of the
seventeenth century to locate man's "soul" in the pineal gland at the base of
the brain Again, we can do no better than to quote Freud himself; the
I

essential thing is to grasp psychological tacts psychologically.

 9

FRIEDA FROMM-REICHMANN
4

Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety

The most unpleasant and at the same time the most universal
experience, except loneliness, is anxiety. We
observe both healthy
and mentally disturbed people doing everything possible to ward
off anxiety or to keep it from awareness.

Mentally disturbed people try to dispel anxiety by developing

mental symptoms. In fact as first stated by Freud, mental symp-
toms are at the same time both the expression of unbearable
anxiety and the means of warding it off. [9] In other words mental
symptoms and mental illness can be understood simultaneously

as the outcome of anxiety and as a defense against it. Mental

illness can be understood as a person's response to unbearable

anxiety. Therefore, anxiety constitutes an essential problem in

psychotherapy.
This holds true even though we consider anxiety to be an
experience by no means limited to the mentally disturbed. As
initially stated, we realize that anxiety in its milder forms is a
universal human phenomenon. Philosophers and psychologists
have known and advanced this knowledge for a long time. In
their eagerness to be great helpers and healers, psychiatrists have
been and are still partly inclined to overlook the difference be-
tween what may be called the normal anxieties of the emotion-
ally healthy and the neurotic or psychotic excess anxiety which
should be subject to psychotherapy. For a long time, psychia-
trists and psychotherapists have also overlooked the fact that

*
This paper is part of the author's forthcoming publication on "The
Philosophy of Psychotherapy" to be published by Grune & Stratton with
whose permission it is preprinted here.
113
H4 Frieda Fromm-Reichmann
facets but also some
anxiety not only has negative, disintegrative
constructive ones. As we set out to clarify the philosophy
positive,
of psychotherapy regarding neurotic and psychotic anxieties,
we
must keep these two aspects of anxiety clearly in mind.
a great variety of ways. Sub-
Anxiety, as we know, shows in
it may be experienced as a most unpleasant
interference
jectively
with thinking processes and concentration, as a diffuse, vague
or as a dis-
and frequently objectless feeling of apprehension
of uncertainty and helplessness. As it arises
comforting feeling
a shift in tone of
in its milder forms, it may show objectively by
voice,and/or tempo of speech, by a change of posture, gesture
and motion, also by the anxious person's intellectual or emotional
preoccupation or blocking of communication. In people who are
in
even more anxious, anxiety manifests itself psychologically
more or less marked degrees of paralysis of thought and action.

The well known manifestations that may be caused by

physical
anxiety are symptoms of a hyperactive sympathetic system such
sensation of a lump in
as change of turgor, perspiration, tremor,
the throat, sinking abdominal sensations, diarrhea, vomiting,
in pupillar reactions, in heart beat, pulse rate and
changes
respiration. If anxiety-states
become so severe that the anxiety-
stricken person cannot handle them, mental symptoms and men-
tal illness are the final outcome.
In the rare cases when
anxiety is so severe that all these ex-
pressions of it and defenses
all against it fail to bring relief,

panic or terror may be the outcome. Panic, as defined by H. S.

Sullivan, is an extreme concentration of attention
and the
direction of all available energy toward only one goal escape,
swift flight from internal dangers which are poorly envisaged,
and in the case of failure to escape, by a temporary disintegra-
tion of personality with random destructive tendencies against
oneself and others. Also according to Sullivan, terror is anxiety
of a cosmic quality in the face of a primitively conceived threat
of danger. The terror-stricken person feels himself to be alone
among deadly menaces, more or less blindly fighting for his
survival against dreadful odds. [29, 30] Fortunately, terror and
panic are short lived. The organism produces quick defenses
against the devastating influence which panic or terror of pro-
Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety 115

longed duration would exert. John Vassos' empathic pictorial

work on Phobia (which, incidentally, is dedicated to H. S. Sulli-
van) should be mentioned here as an impressive contribution to
the understanding of terror and panic. [34]
In contrast to these various forms of anxiety, fear is a useful,
rational kind of fright elicited by realistic external dangers. To
be described presently, and in contrast to fear, are the dangers
from within, which elicit anxiety.

Whatis anxiety in terms of its conceptions in dynamic psychia-

try? Freud says in "The Problems of Anxiety," that anxiety is

felt by a person at the realization of formerly repressed inaccept-

able drives and wishes; his anxiety is with regard to loss of love
and punishment, i.e. along the lines of Freud's libidinal con-
cepts, castration-fear. [9]
Weneed not go into the discussion of Freud's older explana-
tion of anxiety as the result of repressed sexual desires, [5] be-
cause he rejected it himself in "The Problems of Anxiety."
Freud the concept of the anxiety-arousing
Sullivan shares with
power of inacceptable thoughts, feelings, drives, wishes and ac-
tions. But in the framework of his interpersonal conceptions he
sees these forbidden inner experiences as interpersonal ones, not
as instinctual drives per se; also the expected punishment is
not seen as castration-fear. Rather, it is experienced by the
anxious person as the anticipated disapproval, i.e. loss of love,
from the significant people of his early life, from whom he has
originally learned to discriminate between acceptable and in-

acceptable drives, attitudes, and actions. Later on this fear of

disapproval may be transferred from the original significant

people who trained and educated the anxious person to their
emotional successors. Guilt feelings, separately described by
other authors, are obviously inherent in Sullivan's conception of
anxiety. [29, 30, 31, 32]
This disapproval by the significant people of one's early life
to which both Freud and Sullivan refer, is vital enough to
account for severe anxieties because the infant and the young
child are dependent upon the early important people for ful-
fillment of their basic needs. The infant's survival depends upon
the care he is given by the mothering ones of his infancy.
loving
116 Frieda Fromm-Reichmann

Nearly all psychological concepts of anxiety have, in common

with Freud and Sullivan, this one basic conception: that anxiety
is tiedup with the inner danger of inacceptable thoughts, feel-
ings, wishes or drives which elicit the expectation of loss of
love and approval or of punishment. No matter how much these
conceptions may differ in their explanatory details and regard-
less of whether or not this aspect of anxiety is explicitly men-
tioned in these conceptions, it is a viewpoint now commonly
shared.
Let me
quote a few outstanding representatives of various
psychiatric schools of thinking. Rank speaks of separation anxiety
which people first experience at birth and subsequently through-
out their lives, present at all phases of personality-development
and individuation, from weaning, i.e. separation from mother's
breast, to separation from one's fellowmen, by death. [26]
Adler uses his concept of inferiority feelings where other au-
thors speak of anxiety. He asserts that these inferiority feelings
can be overcome by people only in affirmation and strengthening
of their social bonds with society, by enforcing the sense of be-
longing to a social group. [1]
Homey emphasizes the central significance of the interrelated-
ness between anxiety and hostility anticipated in others and
sensed in the anxious person himself; here again anxiety is seen
as being tied up with the fear of disruption of one's interpersonal
relationships. [19]
Fromm, Berdyaev, Halmos, Kardiner, Riesman and other so-
cial psychologists find the source of man's anxiety in his psy-
chological isolation, his alienation from his own self and from
his fellowmen. They consider this the common fate of man in
modern society, irrespective of his state of emotional health.
[3, 10, 18, 22, 27] A poetic version of this viewpoint may be
found in Auden's "Age of Anxiety." [2]
Goldstein's conception of anxiety as being the subjective ex-
perience of a danger to existence in the face of failure may also
imply anxiety regardingloss of love and recognition by those
who recognize the anxious person's failure. [15, 16]
The same holds true for Rollo May's definition of anxiety as
"the apprehension set off by a threat to some value which the
Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety 117

individual holds essential to his existence as a personality." 1

[23]
Again this concept implies the fear of losing interpersonal recog-
nition or acceptance since this could be tied up with the loss of
essential values in the life of the individual. I will return later
to the of some other aspects of the conceptions
discussion
of these authors. this point I am primarily interested in
At
demonstrating the ubiquitously implied acceptance of the con-
cept that anxiety is connected with anticipated fear of punish-
ment and disapproval, withdrawal of love, disruption of inter-
personal relationships, isolation or separation.
This conception of anxiety as the expression of the anticipated
loss of love and approval, or separation, social isolation, or

disruption of one's interpersonal relationships implies its close

psychological affinity to loneliness. In fact, I believe that many
of the emotional states to which psychiatrists refer as anxiety
2
actually are states of loneliness or fear of loneliness.
Now I wish to return to the discussion of the psychodynarnics
of anxiety. According to Sullivan, the infant and child's need
for love and approval and the anxiety connected with rejection
and disapproval are utilized by the significant adults in handling
the necessary early processes which are designed to train the
infant and child for his interpersonal adjustment, his socialization
and acculturalization. Out of this educative process evolves the
part of human
personality which Sullivan has called "self-
system." This self-system operates in the service of people to
obtain satisfaction without incurring too much anxiety. In the
process of establishing the self-system certain infantile trends
must be barred from awareness, dissociated. If they break into
awareness anxiety will reappear because the structure of the
self-system, the nature of which tends toward rigid maintenance
of its protective status quo, is threatened with change. This
defensiveness against change makes for the danger of personal

Rollo May's book is most stimulating as a monograph in its own right,

1

but also as an excellent survey of the theories of anxiety. The proceedings of

the 39th Annual Meeting of the American Psychopathological Association,
1949; Grune & Stratton, 1950; edited by Hoch & Zubin ought to be quoted
as another useful compendium on the subject
a
l will elaborate on this topic in my forthcoming publication "Philosoph]

of Psychotherapy." (See footnote on page 113.)

118 Frieda Fromm-Reichmann

rigidity, which in turn increases the potentialities for further

anxiety. [29, 30] This anxiety connected with change is eternally
in conflict with man's general innate tendencies toward growth,
toward the change which is implied and particularly with the
innate motivation of mental patients toward health. One of the
great responsibilities of the psychotherapist is to help patients
face and overcome this conflict constructively. [12]
I would like to offer an additional explanatory concept about
the factors which make people expect punishment, disapproval
and loss of love and which has helped me to understand better
than did previously the psychological significance of the anxie-
I

ties of people in general and of mental patients in particular.

Let us ask again: what do people disapprove of most gravely

in themselves, i.e. which trends in themselves do they expect

willbring the most severe disapproval on the part of the signifi-

cant people in their lives? Are there other significant causes for
the anxiety-arousing anticipation of disapproval and isolation in
addition to those we have quoted? Let me offer the following
hypothetical answer.
It is a well-known psychological fact that a person will mis-

value the significant people of his childhood to the extent to

which his early interpersonal tie-ups remain unresolved. If these
early interpersonal patterns stand uncorrected, people will distort
the image of various people whom they meet in the course of
their lives. They may or may not dimly sense that they do so,
but they will not recognize the interpersonal misconceptions of
their early childhood as the root of the distortions of their inter-

personal relationships.
An adult person who finds himself compulsively appraising
other people inadequately, incorrectly evaluating their reactions,
acting upon and responding to them in line with these mis-
conceptions in terms of early patterns of living, may many times
become semi-aware of his erroneous judgment and behavior.
However, he may feel inadequate and helpless in his dim wish or
attempt to change and correct his judgment and his emotional
reactions because he is unaware of their unconscious roots, the
unmodified fixations to the patterns of interpersonal relationships
which he acquired in his early years. This helplessness in the
Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety 119

face of the need to change anachronistic, distorted patterns of

interpersonal relationships meets with self-disapproval and dis-
content; it interferes with the innate tendency to self-realization;
itproduces deep insecurity in people and meets with the antici-
pated disapproval of others; thus, it is the expression of anxiety
and it produces further anxiety. Goldstein could demonstrate
this type of anxiety in his brain-injured patients. When they
were faced with a simple task which they could not accomplish
for reasons unknown to them, stemming from their neurological
brain injury, they became the prey of an abject feeling of help-
lessness, of nothingness, or a "catastrophic reaction," as Gold-
stein has called it. [15, 16]
The hypothesis is offered that mentally disturbed people
frequently develop a "catastrophic reaction," anxiety, in response
to thek compulsively determined inability to change their dis-
torted, immature patterns of interpersonal relationships. This
task may be by the demands of their own conscience or by
set
the actual or assumed demands of their elders or friends. This
helplessness in the presence of the need to envision and to relate
oneself adequately to other people, i.e. in accordance with one's
chronological age and with one's psychological reality without
full awareness of its causes, is most frightening, for more than

one reason. It a general feeling of helplessness and

elicits

paralysis. It means
that the person concerned is living in an
unreal psychological world and that he feels he is in danger of
pulling the people of his environment actually or in fantasy into
the same threatening abyss of unreality. Being unable to success-
fully avail himself of the possibility of using new means of eval-
uating people and of relating himself meaningfully to them
amounts to being blocked in the utilization of learning processes
which serve growth and change. This absence of growth and
change is tantamount to psychological stagnation and emotional
psychological death. [14] In other words, the repeti-
sterility, i.e.

tion-compulsion to follow early patterns of interpersonal evalu-

ation and relatedness and the inability to learn to replace them
by new patterns, deprives a person of the freedom to live and
move about in the world of psychological reality which should
he his, deprives him of the freedom for self-realization and
120 Frieda Fromm-Reichmann

conveys feelings of stagnation and sterility, hence the fear of

psychological death, of Tillich's "not being," or Goldstein's
"nothingness." [15, 16, 33]
By "self-realization" I mean (to repeat a definition I have
previously given [12]) a person's use of his talents, skills and
powers to his satisfaction within the realm of his own freely
established realistic set of values. Furthermore, I mean the un-
inhibited ability of patients to reach out for and to find fulfill-
ment of their needs for satisfaction and security, as far as it
can be obtained, without interfering with the laws and customs
which protect the needs of their fellowmen. Goldstein's "self-
actualization," Fromm's "productive character," Whitehom's "ma-
ture personality" and the "self-affirmation" of the existentialists
axe formulations of the same concept. [10, 15, 35] In the clas-
sical psychoanalytic literature insufficient attention has been

given so far to the concept of self-realization as a great source,

if not the greatest source, of human fulfillment. Freud has re-
ferred to it in his teachings on secondary narcissism and ego-
ideal formation, but he has dealt more with the investigation
of the origin of the phenomenon than with the elaboration on
the psychological significance of the end-product, mature self-
realization. [7, 8]
The lack of freedom for self-realization and the feeling of
stagnation and "nothingness" that goes with it, this sense of
psychological death, seems to me to be at the root of many
people's anxiety. To repeat, they cling to infantile interpersonal
patterns, and as a result feel helpless without really knowing why.
The> are unable to grow emotionally, to develop or change. They
and act according to their chronological
are not able to think, feel
age. They live
anachronously in a deadening emotional rut where

they compulsively continue to distort their interpersonal images

of new people whom they meet, and to misvalue the interpersonal
reactions and behavior of these people along the line of the
conceptions gained in their unresolved interpersonal childhood
contacts.

Example: A young woman, Anna, went to see her older friend

and confidant, Mr. N., whom she trusted unequivocally. Anna
asked him to contact certain significant people in her family
Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety 12 u

and explain to them some facts about her life which she fek
would be of immeasurable value for them and for her in the
general family picture. Mr. N. assured Anna of his complete
willingness to do this and when Anna left him she was confident
that Mr. N. would take care of the situation with understanding
and skill. For valid rational reasons, which are beside the point
of our discussion, Mr. N. decided later not to meet the members
of the family and have a talk with them along the lines sug-
gested by Anna. He did not have an opportunity to discuss this
with her. When Anna found out about it a few days later, she
felt deep resentment against Mr. N. and developed a spell of

severe anxiety. Why? She felt that her friend had not accepted
here appraisal of the total situation nor given it serious considera-
tion. She also felt he had treated her the same way her parents
had always done; to judge everything the little girl suggested or
offered for consideration as not being worthy of serious thought
on their part, "little girls are too emotional." Anna realized
though, that her resentment against Mr. N., whom she felt had
betrayed her and had not taken her suggestion seriously was,
somehow, unfounded and sensed dimly that he might well have
fallen down on their agreement for valid, rational reasons. How-
ever, she felt completely incapable of overcoming her resent-
ment and her severe spell of anxiety lasted for hours. The semi-
awareness she had about the irrationality of her anxiety and
resentment did not help any until, by psychoanalytic investiga-
tion, she finally discovered the reasons, of which she had been
unaware. Then she recognized that her resentment was due to a
distortion of the present situation between her and Mr. N., in
the light of the unresolved interpersonal pattern of living with
the parents of her childhood, ("little girl" "too emotional"
judgment and suggestions deserve no consideration.)
Jurgen Ruesch's interesting new concept of anxiety which he
gained from observation and investigation of people under stress,
fitsinto this context. He says that anxiety arises as a result of
overstimulation which cannot be discharged by action. [28] The
anxious people who have been described are barred from dis-
charging tension by action, from converting anxiety into euphoria
because they live in a state of "not-being," or "nothingness."
122 Frieda Fromm-Reichmann

The anxiety producing aspects of people's unresolved early

tie-ups and involvements, of which they are only partially aware,
receive additional reinforcement because so of these anxiety
many
producing aspects are experienced as forbidden and elicit anxiety

connected guilt feelings. Love for the parent of the opposite sex
and competitive hatred of the parent of the same sex should
be mentioned here as the most outstanding example of such
anxiety and guilt evoking psychological constellations.
The resolution of such early tie-ups with the parents of one's
childhood, which I have implicitly recommended as a preventive
against anxiety, should not be
confused with manifestations of
a child's outwardly breaking away from his parents. Children
who succeed in breaking away from their parents early may ex-
this emerging independence of
perience increased anxiety, since
a child meets with a sense of loss on the part of the parents,
hence frequently with their disapproval of the child.
The psychology of masturbation is illustrative of our last state-
ment. There has been much discussion about the following
question: Why are there so many children who
never have been
exposed to any warning against masturbation and many adults
who intellectually do not consider masturbation forbidden or
dangerous and yet there are practically no people who masturbate
without feeling guilty and anxious about it? How can we explain
this fact? I believe that guilt eliciting masturbatory fantasies
are only partly, if at all, responsible. Many cases of masturbatory

feelings of guilt and anxiety seem to be connected with the

fact that masturbation represents a child's first act of independ-
ence from his parents or others who have raised and mothered
him. He needs his elders for the fulfillment of all his basic
needs; getting food and fresh air and for being kept clean and
getting fresh clothes and bedding. Masturbation is the only
pleasure he can obtain without their help. As such, it con-
stitutes an act of breaking away from one's parents, for which
the child feels guilty and anxious regardless of the permissive
or non-permissive attitude of the elders towards the act of mas-
turbation per se.

It has been stated that practically no one in this culture gets

ideally rid of his early interpersonal tie-ups and the resulting
Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety 123

interpersonal problems. In other words, almost no one is entirely

prepared to face the anxiety provoking dangers of his present life,
fully undistorted by interpersonal entanglements with the "ghosts
of his past" and with full command of his adult emotional equip-
ment. As Grinker puts it, in his research on "Anxiety and
Psychosomatic Transactions": "The stimulus" (which arouses
anxiety) "must be perceived in the light of inner expectation
originating at an early and particularly helpless time in the
organism's history, to be dangerous to its protective attachments
and hence to his existence," i.e. to have the power to produce
anxiety. [17]
People's fear of nothingness, of helplessness in the face of
"psychological death," as it has been postulated here as being a
central cause of human anxiety, has a factual correlate in the
practically universal experience of anxiety with regard to actual
death as a general phenomenon. The fact that life ends with
death remains to most people an inconceivable experience of
ultimate psychobiological separation. To others, the fact that
time and cause of death are unpredictable conveys a painful
sense of ultimate powerlessness. This fear and anxiety of death
gains reinforcement from the fact that it does not stand only
for itself but is also an expression and a symbol of other unknown
and unpredictable forces which govern human existence. "It is
this factof our being in a finite and limited time, the awareness
of (our) mortality and uncertainty of the future," which renders
us helpless and anxious, as Podolsky puts it. [25] That is, people
seem to feel the same helplessness and anxiety in the face of the
phenomenon of actual death as they do in the face of the above
defined personal experience of "psychological death."
There are various ways in which people may try to counteract
the anxiety and the narcissistic hurt inflicted on them when they
are faced with the necessity of accepting the reality of death.
The powerfulness of these defenses is a measuring rod for the
intenseness of the anxiety which people try to fight off with
them.
The religious concept of the Hereafter is the greatest attempt
to counteract the inconceivable separation experience which is
death.
124 Frieda Fromm-Reichmann
The well known phenomenon of people's guilt feelings after
the death of a close person is, in my judgment, caused not only
by the ambivalence toward the deceased, but also and more so
by people's anxiety about the uncertainty and unpredictability
which go with the very nature of life and death. Feeling guilty
about someone's death means assuming part of the responsibility.
If weare partly responsible, the inconceivable, unpredictable
character of death is mitigated; it is put into some more accept-

able context with that which man can influence or fails to

influence by virtue of hisown skills and powers.
A more
pathological anxiety con-
way of counteracting the
nected with death is used by certain emotionally disturbed people
,o whom its uncertainty is so anxiety provoking and unbearable
v

that they evade its acceptance, or at least find satisfaction in

fantasying that they can evade it, by committing suicide. To
these people, suicide means doing away with the unpredictability
of the end of their lives. As if, by their own determination, they
take the power of decision out of the hands of the Lord, of fate
or of nature, as their conceptions may be. [36, 37]
These examples show that the defenses people feel the need
to erect against the anxietiesconnected with actual death are
just as powerful as the symptoms with which mental patients
try to protect themselves against the anxiety connected with
"psychological death."
Some psychoanalysts may ask at this point, how this concept
of anxiety in the face of psychological and factual death ties up
with the classical psychoanalytic concept of the death instinct?
Freud postulated, in his metapsychological treatise, "Beyond the
Pleasure Principle," that man is bora with aggressive and de-
structive impulses against himself and others. [6] Man's death
instinct, according to Freud, operates throughout his life as the

expression of these self-destructive tendencies against himself.

Other psychoanalysts in writing about this topic have tried to
prove the existence of the death instinct in terms of what, in
their judgment, are self-destructive operations which we can ob-
serve in most people, such as their neglect in seeking medical
help for obviously harmful pathological processes. [24] I believe
thisseemingly self-destructive behavior can be better understood
Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety 125

as the outcome of man's fear of death than as the response to

his death-instinct. He does not consult the doctor lest he be
faced with a fatal prognosis of his ailment which might increase
his fear of death.
I find myself in agreement with Sullivan, Fromm and several
other dynamic psychiatrists and psychoanalysts who do not rind
any evidence of primary in-born hostile and destructive tend-
encies in the human mind, but who deduct from their psychiatric

experience that the rise of hostile and destructive tendencies is

the outcome of and the response to the adversities of people's
interpersonal experiences throughout their lives. Consequently,
these authors do not see any evidence of the original existence
of self-destructive tendencies, of a death instinct, as a given
ubiquitous phenomenon. [11, 29]
Irrespective of the controversial issue of Freud's concept of
the death instinct, we agree with his conceptions that man must
have some kind of an inner awareness, or sense some kind of
reflection of the changes of the organism which take place daily
and hourly in the direction of its final dissolution and death. I
believe that man's inner awareness of these changes of the organ-
ism on its gradual way from birth to death contribute to his fear
of death and to his anxiety of the unknown which is connected
with the facts of death, rather than their being an expression of
his death instinct.
So much about the anxiety connected with what I have called
"psychological death" and about the anxiety connected with the
a general human phe-
psychological facts of actual death as
nomenon. Our data corroborates our introductory statement about
there being almost no one permanently free from anxiety. Yet,
healthy people learn to handle their anxieties without converting
them symptoms. They may even be able to turn them into
into
assets, a topicon which I have elaborated elsewhere. [13]
In the same context, let me also quote Homey who states
that both types of anxiety, that of the mentally healthy and of
mentally disturbed people, render them helpless and this help-
lessness in turn produces more anxiety, "secondary" anxiety.
However, Horney says that anxiety in the face of actual death
and of the other powers of nature must be accepted and does
 126 Frieda Fromm-Reichmann
not call for the development of the defense mechanism and of
the hostility and destructiveness which people develop in re-
sponse to other neurotic or psychotic forms of helplessness
and anxiety. The contrary may even be true. [19] Grinker cor-
roborates this viewpoint when he states: "If anxiety is mild, it
is stimulating and facilitates increased and efficient action or
thought." [16]
As Fronim pointed out, anxiety in the face of the overwhelm-
ing and unpredictable powers of nature, which is the common
fate of all of us, may be used as a motivation for increasing the
common bonds between human beings.
Freud, and also Adler, have emphasized the viewpoint that
human efforts to allay anxiety have led to the development of
civilization. Jung and Adler also emphasize the positive powers
of constructive defense which may be aroused in people for the
sake of counteracting their anxiety. [1, 6, 21]
The existentialists, including one of the outstanding psychia-
trists among them, Binswanger, stress the constructive aspects
of anxiety even more. They consider it the equivalent of the

tension aroused in a person who is able to face the universe and

the task which is set to men, to conquer the emanations of the
universe by action. [4, 35]
States of anxiety which are severe enough to call for expression
and defence by mental symptoms, i.e. the states of excess anxiety
of which neurotic and psychotic patients suffer, are, of course,
not constructive except for the times when they are reduced to
milder degrees.
It should not be overlooked though, that the anxiety of mental

patients under treatment can be psychotherapeutically utilized

as a signpost indicating underlying conflicts and as a challenge
to solve them. This holds true for neurotic patients as well as for

psychotics. In fact,it may be generally stated that mild degrees

of anxiety, discomforting as they may be, can be useful danger

signals to mentally healthy and to mentally disturbed people.
[9, 35]
Somereaders may be surprised that I suggest psychothera-
peutic intervention not only with excess anxiety in neurotic
patients but also in psychotics. Clinical experience during the
Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety 127

last 25 or 30 years has taught dynamic psychiatrists that both

neurotic and psychotic excess anxieties can be successfully treated
with psychoanalysis or psychoanalytically oriented dynamic psy-
chotherapy. Time and space permitting, I could corroborate this
statement with many examples from my own experience and that
of many other psychiatrists who work with both types of
patients. We cannot enter into a discussion of the psychothera-
peutic techniques which dynamic psychiatrists use in the treat-
ment of anxiety. If our initial statement is correct, that anxiety
is at the rootof every mental disturbance, then it is also true
that any discussion of psychotherapeutic methods in the treat-
ment of neurotic and psychotic anxieties would amount to writ-
ing a paper on psychotherapy at large.
I will restrict myself, therefore, to the following brief com-
ments: We have seen that people who suffer from anxiety are
at best only semi-aware of its causes. Therefore, the focal point
of psychotherapeutic guidance or treatment of anxiety states
all

is to help the anxious person uncover and understand the un-

conscious reasons for his helplessness and anxiety. Beyond that

itfollows from our distinction between mild degrees of anxiety
and their predominantly constructive aspects and severe degrees
of anxiety with their predominantly disjunctive aspects, that the
specific psychotherapeutic usefulness of dynamic psychiatrists in
helping anxious patients, encompasses three central therapeutic
tasks. One therapeutic goal should be to guide people in under-

standing and then accepting and learning to live with and to

utilize mild degrees of anxiety. In the case of more intensive
states of anxiety, the psychotherapeutic goal should be to help

people (patients), for preventive reasons, uncover, resolve and

integrate the causes of these anxieties, lest they lead up to an
expression by mental symptoms which simultaneously are used
as defenses against the awareness of these anxiety states. In
cases where a person's anxiety is severe enough to express itself
in mental symptomatology and mental illness, the psychothera-

peutic goal should be to help the mental patient with the

methods of intensive psychoanalytically oriented dynamic psy-
chotherapy to gain insight into the emotional roots of his anxiety
and of his symptomatology, to understand the psychodynamic
128 Frieda Fromm-Reichmann

linkage between anxiety and symptomatology and to face, work

through and eventually vanquish his excess anxiety. Caution is
indicated regarding the timing and the dosage of therapeutic
intervention and enlightenment, lest a patient be made to face
more dynamic insight into his anxiety and greater amounts of
open anxiety than he can accept at a given time.
The discussion of the psychotherapeutic aspects of anxiety
would be more than incomplete if its focus were not extended to
the problem of anxiety in psychotherapists. If it is true that
there is practically no one who is permanently free from anxiety,
and/or none in whom anxiety cannot be temporarily aroused by
aU kinds of adverse experiences, then this fact, of course, holds
true for psychotherapists as well. In their case, we are especially
interested in the feelings of anxiety which may, sometimes, be
brought forth in them by their patients.
A psychotherapist who does not know and integrate this fact,
who dreams about his non-vulnerability to anxiety, be it aroused
in his exchange with patients or other persons, a psychotherapist
who dreams about "complete emotional security" as an unreal
goal for his own inner life, cannot guide his mental patients to
wholesome, constructive testing and evaluation of their anxieties
and to a constructive adjustment to the facts and data of their
internal and external reality. Awareness of his anxiety, not
freedom from or denial of it and sufficient emotional security
to accept and handle it is the philosophical attitude toward

anxiety to be expected of a competent, mature psychiatrist. In-

cidentally, there was a time when it was my belief that a well-
analyzed psychotherapist should be altogether free from anxiety
and emotional insecurity. As a matter of fact, my printed elabora-
tionson such utopianism can still be read in rny book "Principles
of Intensive Psychotherapy." [12] To repeat, I now believe, or
better still, I know that a state of mind permanently free of

anxiety utopianism for the psychotherapist by the same token

is

that for anyone else.

it is

There are many pitfalls in the psychiatrist's interaction with

patientsand for that matter, in the interaction of other people
engaged in responsible interpersonal guidance of their fellowmen,
Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety 129

if they are not willing and able to accept the awareness of a

certain amount of anxiety and emotional insecurity within them-
selves. Conversely, there is a great and constructive source of
help for psychotherapeutic effectiveness in the psychiatrist's
awareness and creative acceptance of his own anxieties whenever
they are elicited. The therapist's anxiety is frequently indicative
of emotional experiences in patients which arouse anxiety in
him. Thus the psychiatrists* anxiety becomes an important di-
vining rod for the discovery of many emotional experiences of
patients, which might otherwise remain undiscovered and hidden
for a long time, as in the case of a psychiatrist who would not
feel free to use his own anxiety as a guide to anxiety provoking
emotional experiences in patients.
A therapist's denial of his own anxieties may cause him to
overlook the possibility of his contaminating patients with them,
a danger which in extreme cases may only be eliminated or
corrected by its free discussion between patient and doctor,
or for that matter between any other two participants in such
an experience. Furthermore, in a therapist, denial of anxiety
may arouse all kinds of defenses in him which will interfere with
his therapeutic usefulness. That is, he may feel he must reassure
himself against the onslaught of anxiety aroused in him by a
patient by giving the patient uncalled for reassurance. Or, he may
try to propitiate his patient by assuming, for his own defense,
all types of roles in the therapeutic process (e.g. the "better"

parent, the "great" doctor), instead of operating for the benefit

of the patient. A
psychotherapist (like any other person partici-
pating in an interpersonal exchange) is only able to listen with
unimpaired alertness, perceptiveness and creative responsiveness,
i.e. he is only able to operate effectively, to the extent to which

there is no interference from defense against his own recognized

anxiety.
At present, I am engaged along with several colleagues at
Chestnut Lodge, in a research project on the intuitive elements
in the doctor's therapeutic approach to schizophrenics. There,
we have ample opportunity to observe clearly the marked inter-
ference with free utilization of intuitive abilities stemming from
130 Frieda Fromm-Reichmann

our anxiety, with regard to our patients, as well as with regard

to our colleagues in the research group, as long as this anxiety

operates unrecognized.
There is one more important psychotherapeutic issue which
is in danger of being obscured in cases of psychiatrists' un-
recognized anxiety. A
therapist who fails to recognize and to
accept his own anxieties will also fail to
differentiate correctly

between the type and the degree of pathological excess anxiety

in mental patients, which is subject to treatment, and the general
human experience of non-pathological anxieties which everyone
may suffer and utilize as part of the business of living. To put
the same thought differently: psychotherapists are not Gods who
can change man's fate, which includes everyone, at times, being
submitted to states of anxiety. In their role as individual psy-
chiatrists, they cannot alter, except very slowly and impercep-
of a culture and a society which may elicit
tively, the structure
anxiety in its members. However, psychiatrists can and should
be useful in man's fight against his individual, irrational excess
anxieties, and in encouraging people to accept and integrate
constructively and without psychotherapeutic help the milder
degrees of anxiety which we may loosely call "normal" anxiety.

Summary

Anxiety is seen as a universal emotional experience. The

reader's attention is directed toward the realization that milder

degrees of anxiety have both disintegrative and constructive as-

pects.
Severe degrees of anxiety are described as leading up to the
development of mental illness, mental symptoms being simul-
taneously an expression of severe anxiety and a defense against
it.

The existing genetic theories on anxiety are briefly reviewed

and the fear of anticipated disapproval, withdrawal of love,
and separation from significant environmental figures is discussed
as a factor, about the genetic significance of which most authors

agree.
Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety 131

The hypothesis is offered that the genesis of anxiety may also

be understood as a result of unresolved early emotional tie-ups
with significant persons of one's early environment. People are
stuck with these early interpersonal patterns and with their early
interpersonal evaluation which remain uncorrected. These fixa-
tions, of which people are only partially aware, if at all, render
them psychologically helpless, interfere with their ability to
change, with their growth, maturation and self-realization, and
with their correct evaluation of their own and other peoples'
interpersonal interactions. The result is "psychological death,"
which elicits anxiety. This anxiety is compared to the anxiety

which is called forth in most people by factual death and similar

phenomena which are beyond human control and, therefore,
arouse helplessness and anxiety.
A distinction proposed between psychotherapeutic guidance
is

in cases of milder forms of anxiety and psychotherapeutic inter-

vention in cases of severe forms of anxiety, which lead to neu-
rotic or psychotic symptom-formation and mental illness.

Finally, the anxieties which may be elicited in psychotherapists

during the treatment situation are discussed in their constructive
and in their disintegrative aspects.

References

[1] ADLER, ALFRED: The Neurotic Constitution. Translated by Bernard

Glueck. New York: Moffat, Yard & Co., 1917.

[2] AUDEN, w. H.: The Age of Anxiety. New York: Random House, 1946.

[3] BERDYAEV, NICHOLAS: Solitude and Society. London: 1938.

[4] BINSWANGER, LUDWiG: Grundformen und Erkenntnis Menschlichen Da-

seins. Zurich: Max Niehans Verlag, 1942.

[5] FREUD, SIGMUND: A General Introduction to Psychoanalysis. New York:

Liveright, 1935; Garden City Publ. Co., 1943. (Chapter on Anxiety)

[6]
: Beyond the Pleasuie Principle. London: Hogarth Press, 1942.
132
- .
"On Narcissism: An
Frieda Fromm-Reichmann
Introduction." In: Collected Papers 4:30-59.

-
[7]
London: Hogarth Press, 1946.

[8]

[9]
- :

.
The Ego and the Id. London: Hogarth Press, 1935.

Problems of Anxiety. New York: Norton, 1936.

[10]

[11]
-FROMM,
.
ERICH:

"Selfishness

FROMM-REICHMANN, FRIEDA*
Man for Himself.

and Self-love."
New York: Rinehart, 1947.

Psychiatry, 2:507-23 (1939).

Principles of Intensive Psychotherapy. Chi-

[12]

[13]
- cago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1950.

: "Remarks on the Philosophy of Mental Disorders." Psychiatry,

[14]
,- 9:293-308 (1946).

: "Psychoanalysis
Differences." Journal Am.
and
Ps.
Dynamic Psychotherapy.
An. Assn., 2:711-721
Similarities

(1954).
and

[15] GOLDS- I'EIN, KURT: Human Nature in the Light of PsychopathoJfogy. Cam-
bridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1940.

: The Organism. New York: American Book Co., 1939.

[17] GRINKER, ROY R.: Psychosomatic Research. New York: Norton, 1953.

[18] HALMOS, PAUL: Solitude and Privacy. New York: Philosophical Library,
1953.

[19]

[20]
-
HORNEY, KAREN:

: The Neurotic
New Ways in Psychoanalysis.

Personality of
New York: Norton, 1939.

Our Time. New York: Norton, 1937.

[21] JUNG, c. G.: Collected Papers on Analytical Psychology. Translated by

C. E. Long; London: Baillere, Tindall & Cox, 1920.

[22] KARDINER, ABRAM: The Psychological Frontiers of Society. New York: Co-
lumbia Univ. Press, 1945.

[23] MAY, ROLLO: The Meaning of Anxiety. New York: Ronald Press, 1951.

[24] MENNINGER, KARL: Man Against Himself. New York: Harcourt, Brace,
1938.

[25] PODOLSKY: "The Meaning of Anxiety"; Diseases of the Nervous System.

14:4 (1953).

[26] RANK, OTTO: Will Therapy and Truth md Reatffw. New York: Knopf,
1945
Psychiatric Aspects of Anxiety 133

[27] RIESMAN, DAVID: The Lonely Crowd. New Haven, Yale Univ. Press, 1950.

[28] RUESCH, JURGEN: "The Interpersonal Communication of Anxiety." Sym-

posium of Stress; Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Wash., D.C.: 154-
164 (1953).

[29] SULLIVAN, H. s.: Conceptions of Modern Psychiatry. Wash., D.C,:

The Wm. Alanson White Found., 1947. New New York:

-
Edition,
Norton, 1953.

The New York:

-
[30] :
Interpersonal Theory of Psychiatry, Norton,
1953.

"The Meaning of Anxiety in Psychiatry and in Life." Psychiatry,

-
:
31j
11:1-13 (1948).

[32]
: "The Theory of Anxiety and the Nature of Psychotherapy."
Psychiatry, 12:3-12 (1949).

[33] TILLICH, PAUL: The Courage To Be. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1952.

[34] VASSOS, JOHN: Phobia. New York: Covici-Friede, 1931.

[35] WEIGERT, EDITH: "Existentialism and Its Relation to Psychotherapy." Psy-

chiatry, 12, 399-412 (1949).

ZILBOORG, GREGORY: "Considerations on Suicide with Particular Reference

[36]

|37j
-
to that of the Young." Am. /. Orthopsychiat. (1937).

chiat.,
: "Suicide
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Among Civilized and Primitive Races." Am. /. jPsy-
 Dreams

The importance of the study of the dream in the development of

psychoanalytic theory and practice is emphasized by Freud's
statement that the dream is the "royal road to the unconscious"
Freud's work in dream interpretation stands as the first modern
endeavor to show that dreams are both understandable
scientific
and meaningful. Ella Freeman Sharpe is one of the more lucid
interpreters of Freud's basic hypotheses; namely, the irrational
nature of dreams, their wishful character, and their origin in
infantile sexual strivings. There have been objections raised by
many observers to one or allof these hypotheses. For example,
Jung, one of the first dissentersfrom Freud, presents a theory
that states that dreams may make rational statements about the
dreamer, that they may have predictive qualities, and are not
necessarily sexual in origin.
The use of dreams in actual practice varies greatly with the
theoretical orientation of the analyst and probably even more
greatly with his personal style.
Our knowledge of dreams has contributed to our understand-
ing of unconscious phenomena. Freud's untiring delving into his
own "night life" gave psychoanalysis the personal stamp it carries
today*
 10

ELLA FREEMAN SHARPE

Evaluation of Dreams
4
in Psycho-Analytic Practice

1. Dream interpretation the corner-stone of psycho-analytic

technique.

2. The value of the dream for the analyst.

3. The value of exploration of the preconscious with reference

to the work of Freud and Jones.

4. The latent content is the clue to the wish-fulfilment.

5. Convenience dreams.

6. Illustrations of the value of dreams in addition to that of

latent content.

Freud's Interpretation of Dreams was the first textbook for

psycho-analysts. His discovery of
the unconscious mind placed in
the foreground of interest the significance of dreams. Psycho-
analytic technique in the early days of the therapy directed the

patient's attention to them during the analytical hour almost to

the exclusion of other topics in which the patient might be inter-
ested. "Free association" sometimes meant in practice free associ-
ation to dreams, and a patient who insisted upon dwelling upon
other things was at times regarded as showing "resistance" to
analysis. The technique of analysis was almost synonymous
with

Reprinted by permission of The Hogarth Press Ltd. from Dream Analysis

*

No. 29, 1937).

(The International Psycho-Analytical Library
137
138 Ella Freeman Sharpe

the technique of dream interpretation. Every dream was eagerly

exploited as the one and only way into the unconscious
mind and
a patient who did not dream presented a great problem to the
analyst for whom the sole key was the dream.
Weknow that dreams are not indispensable. We
treat all that

is said and done during the analytical hour as significant and our
problem is to find the precise significance.
One wonders sometimes if the pendulum has swung to the
of an over-valuation of dreams
opposite extreme, and if instead
as a means of analysing a patient we are not in some danger of
undervaluation. We may need to take stock again of the value
of dreams, and to make an assessment concerning dreams in
general.
We must remember that the interpretation of dreams stands
as the corner-stone of psycho-analysis, and that mainly by such
first earned by the cures achieved,
interpretation psycho-analysis
The dream still remains, I believe,
adherents to the new therapy.
an important and almost indispensable means of understanding
unconscious psychical conflicts.

I will give first some advantages the analyst himself stands to

a patient's dreams. Dreams serve as a kind
gain by understanding
of reference in analytic work. We
can gauge by dreams, if we can
them, how true or wide of the mark are our interpreta-
interpret
tions of the general lun of associations, of his gestures
patient's
or behaviour. We
eventually cither get corroborations of our in-
or we find that the patient's dreams indicate that
terpretations
we are not grasping the trend of aff airs. I do not mean that we can
understand every dream recounted by the patient nor can we fol-
low up clearly the psychical problems from one dream to the
next continuously. If we could see the end from the beginning we
should be as gods. I mean that at intervals we shall find dreams
are accu-
being told to us that show our analytic interpretations
rate since they will be followed by dreams that corroborate and

pursue and unfold further material of the relevant theme. Here

is an example of the process I mean. A patient noticed during an
hour's analysis some catkins in a vase. She spoke of the pollen
falling from them and then of the prodigality of nature. Her
thoughts were "tuned in," so to speak, to
one idea, that of profu-
Evaluation of Dreams in Psycho- Analytic Practice 139

sion and generosity. The people who came to her mind were all
of one type, generous with money, with ideas, with affection. The
analyst said: "There was surely a time when you thought of your
father as a generous giver. You seem to have thought of him as
having abundance of good things which he gave generously, so
much so he could afford not to care if there was waste.** To this
the patient replied incredulously, "But my father as long as I

can remember only gave me two presents.** The analyst replied,

"That's as far back as you can remember, but you don't remem-
ber earlier than four years of age, do you?" The patient agreed.
The next day the patient told a dream in which "running water"
was the main element. This evoked associations leading to her
memory of the ecstasy she felt on first seeing a waterfall. The
inference was drawn that she had first experienced this kind of
excitement on seeing her father's penis while he was urinating.
During the hour there suddenly came to the patient a vision of
hanging fruit, clustered pears she thought, and finally she her-
self volunteered that this picture must be a representation of her
father's genitals seen in infancy when primitive oral desires hallu-
cinate fulfilment from shapes that resemble the breast and nipple.
This illustrates the value of the dream from the analyst's point
of view, namely as a kind of touchstone of the validity of inter-
pretation. Dreams will tell us whether we are really in touch with
the.unconscious mind of the patient. There are dreams we can
only partially interpret in the light of the material given. We have
only a partial understanding of an unfolding situation. There are
other dreams which confirm and elaborate the accurate interpre-
tations we have given. From this point of view, for grip of his
own work, the dream is invaluable for the analyst.
I will give another type of value we gain from dreams. One

needs to re-read at times the dream analyses detailed by Freud

and Jones in their expositions of dreams. These analyses are clas-
sical examples of the bringing to light of the emotional situations
of the current day and present-day stimuli. Beyond certain affec-
tive situations Freud thought fit to reveal in connection with his
own childhood these dreams do not supply us with a great deal
of either memory material nor of deep-seated unconscious phan-
tasy. Neither could we expect it. What Freud has shown in a
140 Ella Freeman Sharpe

way unsurpassable is the immense ramification of pre-consclous

thoughts, so illustrating the distorting mechanisms of condensa-
tion, displacement, symbolization and dramatization, for the
purpose of psychic ease in wish-fulfilment,
Freud's actual analyses of dreams give us on the massive scale
the value of the associations to a dream as a means of understand"
ing the present-day emotional situations and conflicts in terms of
the present-day events. They are examples of searching self -analy-
sis of the pre-conscious, such as a fearless mind can undertake

when is enough self-knowledge to draw inferences from the

there
material.These dreams draw our attention to one value of the
dream, namely an investigation by free association of the signifi-
cant present-day stimuli and the present-day setting of conflict
and emotion. Without the present-day setting we do not and can-
not comprehend the unity of the psychical life. We
may know by
interpretation of dream symbolism that a woman unconsciously
is punishing herself for the wish to deprive her mother of chil-

dren, or for the belief that omnipotently she brought about the
death of her small brother at the age of two, but it is the explora-
tion of the dream in terms of the pre-conscious and conscious
mind that will give us just how this primitive wish, belief and
guilt feeling work out in present-day life itself and, during the
analysis, in terms of transference to the analyst.
Given a woman of fifty, married, and with grown-up children,
the dominance of this unconscious conflict will have resulted
in specific present-day situations and present-day thinking. More
than half a lifetime of psychical building has been done in con-
nection with this major core of the long past. Not by the mere
magic of interpretation alone shall we alter the patient's psychical
orientation, an interpretation which was possible for the analyst
to make in the case of this woman in the first week of analysis.
The analyst must illustrate this past still living in the present, the
past that cannot be left behind. We can do this only by seeing
people of the present day in the roles of post imagoes, by seeing
what are the present-day equivalents of past situations and realize
the denouements that are forever being reached. So in this par-
ticular patient the problem revealed itself in terms of houses
first of all. Over a period of years her husband had secured house
Evaluation of Dreams in Psycho-Analytic Practice 14!

after house for her, always with the one result that her interest
gradually waned, she finally disliked her home and decided they
must leave it. She then had a prolonged holiday after which they
made a fresh start. One factor alone is quite inadequate to explain
this woman's unrest but one factor was undoubtedly the self-pun-
ishment of turning herself out of her house to make amends for
the wish and the belief that she had turned her brother out. My
point at the moment is that the dream is a means of exploring
the pre-conscious which together with its correlation with the
conscious present-day settings of emotion and conflict will also
include the past conflicts brought up to date. By this means,
whether in transference or in the wider-flung life of the patient in
all activities, we can estimate how far repressed memories and

unconscious conflicts are contributing an untoward influence

upon present-day life and conduct.
I have found dreams an invaluable clue to a
repressed major
traumatic situation which an adult patient was compelled con-
tinually to re-stage again in terms of his current life in order to
bring about magically both the same and a different outcome
from the original. Such dramatization in real life is of constant
occurrence. It may be innocuous when not of a massive type
having no untoward effect on the person's life in reality. For
example, I know of a patient who for years never knew the
reason why a bath taken during the day-time gave her a sense of
well-being that no morning or evening bath afforded her. We
found in the course of analysis that as a child of five she had been
left to her own devices one afternoon and possessed of a jar of

paste for sticking scraps in an album she had not only pasted in the
scraps but had then proceeded to cover the furniture in the room
and finally herself with the sticky paste. Her father on his return
had smacked her hands, the first time he had physically punished
her. The escapade was followed not only by a washing of the
furniture but she herself was bathed. Clean and tidy once more
the child saw her father again, was forgiven and kissed. The after-
noon bath for the patient of forty still brought a feeling of absolu-
tion that was greater than mere cleanliness. Nor, I may add, did
the knowledge she gained of the significance of her unconscious
dramatization lessen her satisfaction in an afternoon bath. This is
142 Ella Freeman Sharpe
a minor and innocuous example of dramatization. More serious
types occur. When such dramatization constitutes in itself the
re-enacting of the dissociated traumatic occurrence, dreams can
be an important means of the resuscitation of the prototype of
the dramatization. Here is such a dream which after a long baf-
fling analysis brought me insight concerning the problem the
patient was compelled to dramatize. Although the interpretation
brought no direct conviction to the patient and no recovered
memory it yet had the effect of making the actual dramatiza-
tions that subsequently took place less fraught with serious con-

sequences than former ones. The dream ran thus: *7 said good-
bye to G. and sent her away and then I turned to you to embrace
you [i.e. the analyst] and said good-bye. But I was standing on
stiltsand my dilemma was that if I let go my hand on the stilts to
bend forward to kiss you it would mean my legs would give way
and I should jail." From the associations given I was able to make
the interpretation that in the dream the analyst represented the
patient when a child and the patient in the dream represented a
grandparent. The patient had been told, but had no active mem-
ory, of an incident that occurred when she was two years of
age. The grandparent was bending down to kiss the child when
he collapsed from a seizure from which he died. I cannot enter
here into all the fatalistic phantasies that subsequently were in-
separable from the love impulses of this child. My purpose is to
tell you that this dream gave the first satisfactory clue to the

repeated dilemmas the patient unconsciously bi ought about

which were an attempt to deal with the early trauma bound up
with the deepest anxieties, for this trauma was a sudden dramatic
loss by death of a good object not a phantasied loss only.
I have spoken of the value of dreams as the touchstone by
means of which the analyst can gauge how near he is to follow-
ing the movements of the unconscious mind; that is, he will get
corroboration and further elaboration following his interpreta-
tion.
I have spoken of the value of exploring the pre-conscious as

giving us the modern setting in which the long past is still played
out, the modern persons in the old drama, the modern substitutes
in present-day situations moulded on the past, the way in which
Evaluation of Dreams in Psycho-Analytic Practice 143

guilt isassuaged in present-day terms, or in which old rebellions

are staged again.
Mynext evaluation of dreams is in the matter of transference.
Again, I think the dream is a touchstone with regard to the

accuracy of interpretation of the transference. The analyst, by

the help of dreams, can keep in close touch with what actually
is being transferred unconsciously on to him and from whom
transferred. The analyst needs to preserve objectivity if the
patient is to gain it in this matter. Only by the analysis of the
transference do we ultimately analyse the past in the present and
so ultimately the unconscious conflicts. The dream par excellence
with its associations gives us the bridge between the present and

the past, just as for the time being the analyst is the person on to
whom the problems in the unconscious mind are transferred.
It is to this aspect of transference the analyst must adhere, and I
know of no corrective like dreams to illuminate the fact that it
is the infantile elements of development that are thus worked out
in transference on to the analyst. We
shall not be tempted to look

upon the positive transference to ourselves as the equivalent of

the love-life of a full personality, but as the transferred affects
of a conflict within the psyche. Patients at various stages will of
course equate their feelings for the analyst as being those of the
mature adult. But the analyst if he is to deliver over the patient
to a real love life must never lose sight of the fact that the remote
secluded hour of analysis is part of the total phantasy that is
being worked out and understood. The dream is the great help
and corrective since in the dream we can see what is being trans-
ferred, what situation is being enacted, what role is being thrust
on to the analyst, what past affective situation is being re-staged.
This leads me directly to what may be called the cardinal rule
in dream analysis. There are many exceptions to this rule, but I
believe there are more pitfalls for the analyst in neglecting the
cardinal rule than there are in neglecting the many exceptions.
This cardinal rule is that the meaning of a dream is ascertained
by analysing the manifest content into its latent thoughts. The
firstimpulse in connection with any dream is to try to interpret
its meaning as it is given in the manifest content, and I believe

this impulse has to be checked as much by the analyst in him-

144 Ella Freeman Sharpe

The understanding of the dream as a wish-

self as in the patient.
fulfilment only reached in this way. We, as well as patients, may
is

say of the manifest content of a dream "but this cannot possibly

be a wish." To find the wishes that are represented we must know
the latent thoughts, and along with those (which may represent
that
opposing wishes) we must include those psychical forces
bring about displacement and seeming congruity.
To give the
idea that all dreams are simple wish-fulfilments as presented in
their manifest content is to give that partial truth which leads
as much astray as a lie.

Here is a simple example of an anxiety dream. To say the dream

as it stands is a wish-fulfilment is manifestly absurd. "A man is
acting for the screen. He is to recite certain lines of the play.
The photographers and voice recorders are there. At the critical

moment the actor forgets his lines. Time and again he makes the
attempt with no result. Rolls of film must have been spoilt"
The dreamer had great anxiety watching the actor fail at these
critical moments.
It is only when one knows the latent content that one realizes
the conflict of wishes represented in such a dream. The photog-
raphers and voice recorders cannot get the actor
to perform

although they are all assembled for that purpose. He forgets his
lines. The anxiety of the dreamer is, in the manifest content,

caused by the fact that he can say nothing when everyone is

waiting for him to do so. The actual infantile situation revealed
by the associations was that the dreamer was once the onlooker
when his parents were "operating" together. The baby was the
original photographer and recorder and he stopped
the parents in
the "act" by noise.The baby did not forget his lines! The original
anxiety was connected with an actual doing, not with abstention
from activity at the critical moment. It is always helpful to re-
member that original anxieties regarding our impulse life are
concerned with what we did or wished to do, not with our sins of
omission. "return of the repressed" is given in the dream
The
by the element "rolls of film must have been wasted" telling us
by the device of metonymy, of a huge amount of faecal matter
the baby was able to pass at that moment.
Illustrated in this dream are some of the profouridest activities
Evaluation of Dreams in Psycho-Analytic Practice 145

of the psyche. We
have the recording of sight and sound by the
infant and the incorporation by the senses of sight and hearing of
the primal scene. We
have evidence of this incorporated scene by
itsprojection into the dream dramatization. The modern inven-
tion of the screen of the cinema is pressed into service as the

appropriate symbol, the screen being the modern external device

corresponding to the internal dream picture mechanism.
The original onlooker becomes the active doer, drawing atten-
tion to himself, not in articulate words, but by inference from
the wasted rolls to the one thing he could do, namely make
a mess and a noise that brought the operators to a standstill.
Moreover, by displacement of aifect, of counter-wish against
the original wish, by the dream work which attempts to resolve
anxiety there is presented in miniature the conflict of desires.
The cardinal rule is to analyse the manifest dream into its

latent elements. One finds in transferencedreams particularly

that patients will attempt to interpret the dream from its manifest
content. There is often a marked resistance to submitting such
dreams to analysis, that is of treating the elements separately and

unearthing the infantile situation and finding the figure for whom
the analyst is a proxy. When a strong positive or negative trans-
ference is in full swing a dream may so gather up the infantile
longings and so strongly picture them with regard to the analyst
that the manifest dream content is taken almost as a reality. The
reason for this is often due to the fact that in the dream there
is embedded a bit of childhood reality not remembered in con-

sciousness, and unknown to the patient this submerged experi-

ence being relieved. Again the important thing is to find the
is

latent thoughts, and to track down the real experience. In the

analysis of transference dreams this is vitally important. patient A

will often say: "Well, I dreamt about you last night, and you were
doing so and so, or Ms and that happened." I find in such trans-
ference dreams the patient is particularly anxious to interpret the
dream as a whole, and I am inclined to think that the analyst too
may be more often tempted to consider manifest content rather
than the latent one in such types of dreams. These above all must
be explored for the repressed thoughts, phantasies and memories.
Here is an example in illustration of my argument. '7 dreamt you
146 Ella Freeman Sharpe

were angry with me and would not forgive me." The patient who
related this dream could not for a time rid herself of the convic-
tion that the analyst was in reality angry with her. Only by the
analyst's close following on of the work of the previous day's
analysis did there emerge the memory of putting
the paste over
the furniture, an incident to which I referred in illustrating dram-
atization. The fact was that the child was angry with her father.
In the analysis the affective projection on the analyst came first.
"You are angry with me and won't forgive me." The psychical
truth was "I am angry with you and won't forgive you," which
was the real significance of the childhood escapade.
I find that short compactdreams also are apt to be taken at
the valuation of the manifest content and interpreted often by
the patient off-hand and dismissed with satisfaction. For example,
says, "7 dreamt I was having successful
a man intercourse
patient
with X." He goes on to say: "I told you I met her the other day
and how pretty and attractive I thought she was." He comments
further, "A very natural dream, and it is easy to see a wish-ful-
filment." This is a good example of what I mean by the urge to
interpret the manifest content as it stands. The short compact
dream of this type isoften most difficult to analyse and when it
yields to analysis is often the most fruitful. This particular dream
led to the most deep-seated phantasies of the dreamer's infantile
fears of the inside of the mother's body. These latent thoughts
were only accessible through associative material that was avail-
able when he thought of women who had characteristics the
exact opposite of the woman in the dream.
Having stated the general rule I would now draw your atten-
tion to exceptions. There are dreams in which it is possible to read
the meaning without the latent content, dreams of a simple type
in which the symbolism is straightforward and typical. The dream
I quoted in the first chapter in which the dreamer saw music in
of mountains and
pictures which passed before her eyes, pictures
hills softly rounded, is an example, This dream could be evalu-
ated at once, since it was the dream of a patient who had passed
through a severe trauma, who was keeping contact with reality
but struggling and finding it almost unbearable. The external
reality situation of extreme frustration is compensated for by
Evaluation of Dreams in Psycho-Analytic Practice 147

dreams of fulfilment of desire. Here is another dream that can be

partly interpreted without latent content. A
patient brought me at
close intervals dreams of being wheeled in a perambulator. This
patient was finding the effort to keep in touch with reality almost
impossible. A young girl I had some time ago who had had a
nervous breakdown brought me dreams for some weeks in which
everything had stopped. Trains, buses, lifts, everything that in
reality is only of value if it moves, had in her dreams come to a
standstill. These dreams were important in their latent content,
but I am illustrating here the fact that the manifest content as a
whole can convey a meaning to the analyst. Dreams of
at times

making circumstances fit our physical requirements in order to

prevent disturbance of sleep can be understood from manifest

content. Here are some examples:
"/ dreamt I got out of bed to urinate." "I dreamt I arrived in
time for my early appointment." I dreamt someone picked up the
eiderdown from the floor and replaced it on my bed." Such
dreams yield up an immediate significance.
I pass next to another type of evaluation to be gained from

dreams.
These are dreams in which the latent content may be of sig-
nificance, but not of such importance as the psychological pur-
pose which the whole dream fulfils. The manifest content of the
dream will not necessarily give the purpose of the dream as in
the case of the examples I have cited. The dream will yield up its
latent meaning through analysis, and yet to direct the analysis to

ascertaining the meaning of the different elements is to miss the

chief significance of the dream as a whole. Dreams sometimes
serve as a means of placating the analyst, and so assuaging anx-
iety about the phantasies that have been transferred to the analyst.
In this situation it is not the analysis of the actual dream that is
important, but the analysis of the necessity to placate. male A
patient, for example, who is dealing with unconscious aggres-
sive phantasies towards the father figure, and therefore is uncon-
sciously fearful of the analyst's attack, will often produce num-
bers of dreams which have the total significance of placation.
They are a gift to turn away the imagined wrath of the avenger.
In another type of dream one must think of purpose rathei
148 Ella Fieeman Sharpe

than of latent content, namely when a long dream requires half

an hour to recount, or a series of dreams take up the same length
of time. Content may be important, but of first importance is the
finding out of the unconscious purpose that is being served by
the occupation of half an hour in recounting the dreams. I have
known ten dreams to be recorded by one patient in this way.
Among the purposes thus served I have found: (a) Resistance
to speaking of present-day occurrences, (b) The dreams may
be
represent potency, urethral, anal and sexual, (c) They may
symbolic gifts, (d) They may represent a gift following a with-
holding. When dreams are written out and read by the patient I
often find they represent a good faecal product, which in contrast
to a childhood accidentis given neatly and confined to the paper.

I remember an occasion upon which a patient said after re-

counting a number of dreams, "I am remembering a poem by

Yeats, in which he says:

I, being poor, have only my dreams;

Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams."
significance of the dreams was thus immediately
The clear. They
were a love gift to the analyst. Their significance is still more
detailed, for the inference is that the dreams are on the floor, and
must be trodden on very softly. The mess on the floor may
child's

as easily mean a gift as an assault, "Tread softly, for you tread

on my dreams."
have spoken of the dream as a whole serving the purpose of
I

sometimes the actual manifest content will do this.

placating, but
For example, the manifest content will sometimes give in direct
form a phantasy that carries on some interpretation the analyst
has given the day before. The dream betrays this by the com-
pleteness of its confirmation. An astute patient of my own gener-
ally recognizes this and says frankly
"This dream is to oblige."
The "obliging dream" is a placating one. It resembles the obedi-
ence of a fearful child. The analyst, when the patient is well
versed in the main problems of psycho-analysis, must be on the
alert when a dream presents a perfect "complex." The safeguard
here lies in the analysis of the associations and the affects of tlvs
patient.
Evaluation of Dreams in Psvcho-Analytic Practice 149

On the other hand we have in contrast to the patient who will

obligingly tell us we are right and go on and confirm our interpre-
tations the one who must prove we are wrong, and who will fol-
low up an interpretation we have given by a dream which will
prove us wrong. In both these types of dreams the analysis must
be directed to the purpose of the dream rather than the content.
Another evaluation concerning dreams may be made from the
patient's own attitude to them. Not only do patients differ in their
attitudes to their own dreams but the same patient will have dif-
ferent attitudes at varying times. Some tend to undervalue dreams
and others do the reverse. One finds on the whole that patients
who have the greatest difficulty in bringing into the analysis their
present-day emotions as they experience them with regard to
people and affairs, who in reality find it difficult to express theii
opinions and criticisms inside and outside analysis, use their
dreams as a means of diverting the attention and interest of the
analyst from the patient's daily life. One may know much about
unconscious phantasies, much of the patient's childhood, and yet
fail to see the interrelation between these and the
present-day
conflicts. Such patients are often distressed if there are no dreams
to recount and even feel they are not progressing and cannot

progress unless dreams are forthcoming. In such cases, important

as the help is that dreams will give, the objective on the part of
the analyst must be the present-day stimuli, reality situations
present and past, and suppressed transference affects.
Of the opposite type is the patient who clings to reality and
resists allattempts to penetrate into the phantasy life. Such pa-
tients frequently undervalue dream-material. One patient I know
rationalizes even this fact by saying he welcomes dreams when
he can get them because then he feels he is truly getting some-
thing direct from his unconscious. In his case this means: "My
unconscious has produced this and therefore I am not respon-
sible."
In two situations 1 have learned to surmise an important dream
isbeing held back though it is not invariably so. In anxiety cases
where a certain amount of analysis has been done, or in cases
where anxiety has been released, I correlate an excessive outburst
of anxiety with the following probable conditions:
150 Ella Freeman Sharpe

(a) a present-day stimulus is not remembered during the ana-

lyticalhour.
(b) a repressed event or phantasy that this stimulus has
activated is near to consciousness.
(c) a dream of the night before has been forgotten or delayed
in the telling.
Again with patients who are intellectualists and whose affects
are difficult to release I find very often that an hour that has been
baffling in that the patient does not seem to
be able to do more
than switch from one topic to another has ended with a recall
of the dream of the previous night. In such cases I find that on
the following day the analysis of this dream can proceed and one
gets some light on the reason why the dream was delayed
in the

telling. Sometimes this may

be because of latent content; at
others the significance will lie in the transference situation and the
fact of retention.
One may have the experience of a baffling analytical hour and
then be told the following day by the patient that he remembered
a dream after he had gone away. Such delayed dreams are mainly
important because of latent content and worth subsequent in-
quiry.
A common resistance dream is one in which the patient dreams

that he istelling the analyst something of great importance. It

is "only a dream" and that is itself the reassurance. The matter of

great importance need not be hoped for on that day. I remember

a very marked instance of this type of dream inmy experience
with a patient who had an actual repressed traumatic sexual
experience at the age of four. Before we really began to get indi-
cations of this fact she had many dreams of a young girl with a
great secret which caused her sorrow and she, the patient, in the
dream would plead with this girl to give her her confidence and
reveal what the secret trouble was. The girl would remain obdu-
rate. These dreams were most distressing in affect and baffling in

analysis and yet they were most revealing in the sense that one
was ultimately led to the revelation of an actual trauma.
I will only refer to typical dreams very briefly. A "crowd" in
a dream indicates a secret. The analyst's work is to find the secret.
Examination and train dreams however typical will have their
Evaluation of Dreams in Psycho-Analytic Practice 151

individual nuances. Train dreams are used for many purposes.

I gave one in the second lecture illustrating oral and anal phanta-
sies. Such dreams will at times be accompanied by anxiety, where

they are expressing past situations of incontinence of urine, as for

example when the dreamer cannot catch the train since be arrives
too late. The analyst's task is to discover a present-day emotional

comparable to a past one in which the physical accom-

situation
paniment was incontinence of urine. "Train" dreams can express
indecision concerning some problem, as for example when the
dreamer is actually in time for the train and then at last fails to
board it. The analyst has the task of finding out what this sym-
bolized "doubt" really means.
I should like to call your attention to the type of dream that

symbolizes bodily functioning and bodily sensations.

In an earlier chapter I said that intuitive knowledge is experi-
enced knowledge, and that the unconscious is a storehouse of
experience which we may have forgotten but have never lost. The
experiences of the body ego from earliest infancy can be found
m dreams if we can understand them. Dreams wiiJ sometimes pre-

sent us with evidence of bodily experiences before the child was

articulate and others will give us knowledge of present-day sup-

pressed experiences. An example of a simple dream that gave

evidence of present-day suppressed bodily experience is: "/ dreamt
I was picking flowers last night." We can infer from this that
masturbation occurred the night of the dream.
Adream of distress concerning the hearing of a mighty wind
will oftenbe stimulated by actual flatulence. Such dreams are of
frequent occurrence. There are dreams of this type that give us
bodily experiences of very early years and no actual memory will
ever be forthcoming, but the body remembers and the eye once
having seen has stored a picture which a dream can reproduce.
For example, "/ was running one way on one side of the railings
and a man in shorts was running the opposite way on the other
side of the railings." "I was running" in the dream proved during
analysis to be a pictorial representation of bodily experience of
urinating. The "opposite way" referred to the observation of her
father's "running" which was different from hers. The "railings"
were the intervening bars of the cot bed.
152 Ella Freeman Sharpe

Here is another example. A patient described quite vividly a

special place on a road,road being an element in his dream.
this
He knew exactly how many yards he was from this object and
that object. Then he said: "But if I can say so accurately just
where I was I must have been quite stationary. The place was

stationary and yet I told you I was moving." From the content of
the hour the interpretation of "stationary and yet moving" was
that he was urinating.
I find that machinery and movable apparatus
on to all kinds of
can be transferred bodily sensations, especially those experienced
at an early age. These are a few examples: '7 was in a room and

suddenly the door opened and a great flood of water came in."
This is interesting enough as the evidence of an "accident" but
it is the one dream that I am bold enough to quote as possibly
embodying also a birth experience. It was ascertained that the
patient's birth was heralded by an unexpected sudden bursting of
the waters. fact was unknown to the patient at the time of the
The
dream. '7 was in a lift and suddenly it went down flop." This
dream I found to be the representation of an experience of fluid
excreta rushing down and flopping on the floor. Here is an as-
surance in a dream dealing with the same anxiety experience in
childhood. The dreamer said: *7 saw a marvellous thing happen.
A 'car' went straight up a building on the outside somehow and
got safely to a garage, I suppose on the upper storey." The associ-
ations to this dream through references made to the way in which
a dentist's chair works up and down brought the memory of the
patient's baby's chair that could be made higher and lower. The
dreamer had no actual memory of herself in the chair, but the
dream undoubtedly dramatized an experience where instead of
the "car" (Ka Ka) going up safely into a garage it came down
much to the anxiety of the little child. The dream had further sig-
nificances. On to the mechanism of the chair were transferred
the bodily sensations felt while the child was in the chair, and

from this dream the inference could be made that the accident
occurred in the chair. To another patient I am indebted for this
very valuable dream. The patient dreamt he was trying to get rid
of faeces in a lavatory pan, and then it filled up with water instead
cf emptying. The phantasies involved in this dream were of im~
Evaluation of Dreams in Psycho-Analytic Practice 153

portance, but I think even then their full significance can only be
realizedby the understanding of an actual happening. Here in this
dream we have a representation of what it felt like first to try
to pass a motion and then the subsequent experience of an enema
administration.
Here is another dream of the same type. The dreamer thought
he was in a passage-with a mop which he was using to swab it out.

During the hour's analysis the patient recounted a conversation

of the evening before when someone had said "Your ears are not
:

set quite alike." After telling me the patient covered his ears
this,
with his hands. The dream stimulated the patient to give phanta-
sies and associations that had reference both to faecal matter and
hair. The gesture of covering the ears had the significance of both

preventing his own hearing and being heard, protecting himself

and protecting me. But to understand more fully the significance
of the ears and particular inhibitions in connection with hearing
and the over-determination of phantasy about ears, other facts
have to be taken into account. The patient had an operation on
him to retain any conscious memory of it.
his ear too early for

Underlying phantasy there is in this dream an inherent body-

all

memory as well the passage was actually an ear passage that was
:

once swabbed out. In this dream the man is the active doer, not
the passive agent. A
stimulus for the dream in addition to the
reference to ears in the conversation of the evening before was
that for a few seconds during his analysis of the previous day
the maid was dusting the stairs outside the consulting room. I
registered this fact but it was noticeable that the patient made no
reference to this at the time.
In the interpretation of dreams the analyst can turn to account
the gestures or minor actions performed by the patient during the
analytic hour. The technique in this way approximates in adult
analysis to the principles of play-technique with children. One has
to interpret actions or gestures as either dramatizing the dream
in some symbolic way or as a means of dealing with anxiety by
correcting the impulse or event in the dream. Here are some
illustrations of these different purposes of actual dramatization

during analysis.
The patient who dreamt of the eiderdown slipping off the bed
154 Ella Freeman Sharpe

and of its being put over her again, suddenly felt cold during the
analysis and put her coat over her. The dream gives first an
experience of the night before when she really was cold and did
not wish to wake up to adjust the eiderdown, and so dreamt it
was done for her. This was a convenience dream. The repetition
of the situation during the analytical hour, however, needed in-
quiry, for the room was warm.
Here is an example of dramatization during analysis that must
be interpreted alongside the dream material. The purpose served by
the dramatization was that the anxiety inherent in the dream was
resolved, for the actions were the exact opposite of the repressed
memory and wish. The patient, a man, came in and lay down on
the couch. A second afterwards he thrust his hands in his pocket.
"Hullo," he said, in great surprise. "What's this?" He drew out a
crumpled envelope, looked at it and then said: "Oh, it's nothing,
waste paper, that's all." He then went on talking in the usual
way. A little later he thrust his hand in his pocket again and
suddenly got up saying: "I can't stand this any longer, where's
your wastepaper basket? I must get this into the wastepaper
basket." Still later in the hour when talking about a MS. he was
at work upon he said: "Look here, I must just see if I made those

corrections," and he jumped up again and went to his attache

case, looked at his MS., and came back with a sigh of relief, "Yes,
it's all right, I corrected the errors."
His dream was: "There were two visitors and I was bothered as
to where they would sleep. I put one of (hem in a bed I knew
was to spare. I gave the other visitor my bed, but then I had
nowhere to sleep myself."
The relevant associations during the hour taken in conjunction
with the actions I have recorded proved that we were dealing with
a repressed incident in early life when the rubbish was not
deposited in the wastepaper basket, since it occurred at an early
age when he could not correct his errors and as a consequence
his parents were turned out of their bed because of the small
visitor.
Conversation dreams often prove difficult of analysis. I have
learned to recognize the following types. The persons conversing
will often represent different aspects of the dreamer's psyche un-
Evaluation of Dreams in Psycho-Analytic Practice 153

der the guise of different people. In some dreams the conversation

will contain words or phrases that have been incorporated be-
cause of their own significance or because of the importance of
the person who uttered them. Sometimes such an incorporated
phrase of the present day may overlay a phrase used by someone
in the patient's past. In the "cockatoo" dream I quoted in the last
lecture one has an example of two people conversing who repre-
sent different parts of the psyche, while the word "cockatoo"
itself was an element worth investigating on its own account.
Dreams containing numbers are often difficult to analyseand
they do not always repay the inquiry. If one can evoke from the
patient something concrete associated with the specific number,
it will often lead to a valuable interpretation. One must always

remember the term "figure" means shape as well as number. One

patient of mine has always maintained that "four" is a feminine
number. We have had many symbolical interpretations of the
number four which are easy to supply. I never felt convinced
about the significance of "four" in this instance until the patient
recalled a bedroom scene and said: "You know I remember
watching my mother undress when I was a tiny boy. She always
plaited her hair in four long tails." "Four" thus became a femi-
nine for him and the satisfaction in the fact was that the
number
tailswere an assurance of masculinity. The number five often
ultimately refers to the five fingers and hence to infantile mastur-
bation. A man dreamt that a husband and wife were together for
five days. The subtle nuance of this dream was to be found
through a reference he made to the book of Genesis. He recalled
that it was on the sixth day that God made man and on the
seventh day he called his whole creation very good. In the dream
husband and wife were together five days only.
A patient of mine had an appointment for the first time at the
Clinic. He did not arrive at the appointed time, for he tried to
find the clinic at number "sixty -three." A dream revealed that
"sixty-three" was the number of a house in a certain district
where he had once been told prostitutes were to be found.
A dream of the number 180 was interpreted for me during an
analytical session as meaning "I ate nothing."
Colours in dreams are very important for one of my patients. I
156 Ella Freeman Sharpe

always ask for more details concerning any colour, and in addi-
tion, if the colour is pertaining to material, I ask for detailscon-
cerning the type of material. I have proved conclusively through
this patient my surmise that both creative imagination and artistic

appreciation are firmly rooted in the earliest reality experiences of

taste, touch and sound, For this patient an oatmeal-coloured
material had a "crunchy" feeling and the "crunchy" feeling in
her fingers always brought sensation in her teeth.
A
cherry coloured silk will make her mouth water and she
longs to put her cheeks gently on its surface. The range of
colours for this patient are in terms of cream, butter, lemon,
orange, cherry, peach, damson, wine, plum, nut brown, chestnut
brown. Materials can be crunchy like biscuits, soft like beaten
white of eggs, thick like cake. Threads can be coarse like the gi ain
of wholemeal bread, shine like the skin of satin. I do not let any
reference to colour or material or to dress escape me in the
dreams this patient brings.
Another interesting mechanism one patient unconsciously em-
ploys made it possible for me to deduce from a dream what
reality situation stimulated it. The mechanism throws a light upon
the complicated problem of the different methods by which sta-
bility of the psyche is achieved, a problem I believe of such im-
mense complexity that we know little of it. We realize only the
grosser mechanisms and nothing of the wheels within wheels that
work together in the unity of a psyche more subtly than all the
physiological forces that work together in the bodily organism.
With this patient I only get a really definite dream of hostility
to mother, father, brothers and sisters in certain conditions.
Many dreams have shown veiled hostile wishes, but a plain un-

camouflaged dream of hostility, of actual death wishes, is forth-

coming only if in reality there has been the direct stimulus of

hearing actual appreciation of the person who afterwards figures

in the dream as the object of hostile wishes. If the patient hears

unexpectedly words of praise concerning any relative she dreams

of that relative in a hostile manner. So marked has this been that
I can guess the reality stimulus of an open hostile dream. The

explanation is not as simple as it appears. It is only to be under-

stood by appreciating the problem of how and in what manner
Evaluation of Dreams in Psycho-Analytic Practice 15?

the psyche maintains its equilibrium of forces. Some people attain

this by a much greater interplay with actual people in their en-
vironment; their lives so to speak are more psychically interwoven
and played out with other people.
Hie patient of whom I speak had a fairly stable environment
until the age of five and no external difficulty of a major type
within that period. This meant a degree of genital development.
An actual rival to the mother came into the household when the
patient was five. This rival who won the father's affection was
openly hostile to the mother. The consequence of this was a pro-
found repression of the (Edipus situation in the patient. The hostile
feelings to the mother were intolerable. They were embodied by
one who was a real obstacle to the mother's happiness and not a
phantasied one. The lasting influence of this real situation is given
in the special mechanism by which dreams that express the origi-
nal hostility felt towards her mother and the other children can
be expressed. When someone real in the present-day environment
is spontaneously appreciative of them then there comes a relaxa-
tion within the patient's psyche. We reach then in such dreams
the original hostility felt before the trauma at the age of five
years. This is the goal of the analysis in order that there may
ensue attainment of an inner equilibrium rather than one that is
dependent upon the environment. The importance of the time-
factor in analysis is brought home to us since in a mechanism of
this type the patient's contacts with reality, the dramatizations of
the psychic life in these real situations have all to be explored
with infinite patience.
I will summarize briefly the different evaluations of dreams.
Dreaminterpretation is a corner-stone of psycho-analytic tech-
nique. The analyst can gauge by dreams how closely he is keeping
in touch with the patient's unconscious problem. They help him
to understand the transference affects in terms of those same
problems.
Dreams are a means of exploring present-day stimuli and cur-
rent conflicts through the elaboration of pre-conscious thoughts
To understand the unity of psychical life, the interrelation of the
^re-conscious with the unconscious must be known.
The latent content of the dream is arrived at by the method of
158 Ella Freeman Sharpe
free association to the different elements of the dream. This is

dream analysis.
Dreams may prove of value apart from or in addition to the
significance of the latent content. They may be used as a means
of unconsciously placating the analyst, as symbolic of power, of
control over fascal product, as proof of control over the analyst.
The dream may represent a love gift.
The patient's over- valuation or under-estimation of dreams is

itself an aidunderstanding the psychical problem.

to
Dreams often reveal both present-day bodily experiences and
forgotten ones of childhood. The correlation of such bodily sen-
sations with phantasy is the object of the analyst.

Characteristic gesture and behaviour needs to be correlated

with the patient's associations in arriving at the meaning of a
dream.
The interpretation of gesture and characteristic actions ap-
proximates to the play-technique in the analysis of children.
The key to the dramatization in real life of a major repressed
traumatic situation may often be found through a dream.
The clue to the significance of conversation, numbers and
colours in dreams can often be reached through the patient's
associations to some specific person or specific object.
 11

C. G. JUNG

Dream Analysis in Its Practical

Application*

The use of dream-analysis in psychotherapy is still a much

debated question. Many practitioners find it indispensable in the
treatment of neuroses, and ascribe as much importance to the
psychic activity manifested in dreams as to consciousness itself.
Others, on the contrary, dispute the value of dream-analysis,
and regard dreams as a negligible by-product of the psyche.
Obviously, if a person holds the view that the unconscious
plays a leading role in the formation of neuroses, he will attrib-
ute practical significance to dreams as direct expressions of the
unconscious. If, on the other hand, he denies the unconscious or
thinks that it has no part in the development of neuroses, he will
minimize the importance of dream-analysis. It is regrettable that
more than half a century since Cams
in this year of grace 1931,
formulated the concept of the unconscious, over a century since
Kant spoke of the "immeasurable field of obscure ideas,"
. . .

and nearly two hundred years since Leibniz postulated an uncon-

scious psychic activity, not to mention the achievements of Janet,
Flournoy and Freud that after all this, the actuality of the un-
conscious should still be a matter for controversy. Since it is my
intention to deal exclusively with questions of practical treatment,
I will not attempt in this place a defence of the hypothesis of the

unconscious, though it is obvious enough that dream-analysis

*
Reprinted by permission of Harcourt, Brace and Company and Routledge
and Kegan Paul, Ltd., from Modern Man in Search of a Soul by C. G. Jung.
159
160 C. G. Jung

stands or falls with this hypothesis. Without it the dream appears

to be merely a freak of nature, a meaningless conglomerate
of memory-fragments left over from the happenings of the day.
Were the dream nothing more than this, there would be no excuse
for the present discussion. Wemust recognize the unconscious if
we are to treat of drearn-analysis at all, for we do not resort to
it as a mere exercise of the wits, but as a method
for uncovering

hitherto unconscious contents

psychic which are causally related

to the neurosis and therefore of importance in its treatment. Any-

rule out
one who deems hypothesis unacceptable must simply
this

the question of the practicability of dream-analysis.

But since, according to our hypothesis, the unconscious plays
a causal part in the neurosis, and since dreams are the direct
the attempt to analyse
expression of unconscious psychic activity,
and dreams
interpret is entirely justified from a scientific stand-

point. Quite apart from therapeutic results,

we
may expect this

line of endeavour to give us scientific insight into psychic cau-

scientific discoveries can at
sality. For the practitioner, however,
most be a gratifying by-product of his efforts in the field of
therapy. He will not feel called upon to apply dream-analysis to
his patients on the chance that it may throw light upon the prob-
lem of psychic causality. He may believe, of course, that the
so is of therapeutic value in which case he will
insight gained
dream-analysis as one of his professional duties. It is well
regard
known that the Freudian school is of the opinion that important
the un-
therapeutic effects are achieved by throwing light upon
conscious causal factors that is, by explaining them to the pa-
tient and thus making him conscious of the sources of his trouble.
If we assume, for the time being, that this expectation is borne
out by the facts, we can restrict ourselves to the questions
whether or not dream-analysis enables us to discover the uncon-
scious causes of the neurosis, and whether it can do this unaided,
or must be used in conjunction with other methods. The Freudian
answer, I may assume, is common knowledge. My own experi-

ence confirms thisview inasmuch as I have found that dreams not

the uncon-
infrequently bring to light in an unmistakable way
scious contents that are causal factors in a neurosis. Most often
it is the initial dreams that do this I mean, those dreams that a
Dream Analysis in Its Practical Application 161

patient reports at the very outset of a treatment. An illustration

will perhaps be helpful.
I was consulted by a man who
held a prominent position in
the world. He was with a sense of anxiety and insecurity,
afflicted
and complained of dizziness sometimes resulting in nausea, of
a heavy head and difficulty in breathing this being an exact
description of the symptoms of mountain-sickness. He had had
an unusually successful career, and had risen, with the help of
ambition, industry and native talent, from a humble origin as
the son of a poor peasant. Step by step he had climbed, attaining
at last an important post that offered him every opportunity for
further social advancement. He had actually reached a place in
life from which he could have begun his ascent into the upper

regions, when suddenly his neurosis intervened. At this point

of his story the patient could not refrain from that stereotyped
exclamation which begins with the familiar words: "And just
now, when I ." The fact that he had all the symptoms of
. .

mountain-sickness was highly appropriate to the peculiar situa-

tion in which he found himself. He had brought with him to the
consultation two dreams of the preceding night.
The dream was as follows: "I am once more in the small
first

village where I was born. Some peasant boys who went to school

with me are standing together in the street. I walk past them, pre-
tending not to know them. I hear one of them, who is pointing at
"
me, say: 'He doesn't often come back to our village.' No tricks
of interpretation are needed to recognize and to understand the
allusion to the humble beginnings of the dreamer's career. The
dream says quite clearly: "You forget how far down you began."
Here is the second dream: "I am in a great hurry because I am
going on a journey. I hunt up my baggage, but cannot find it.
Time flies, and the train will soon be leaving. Finally I succeed
in getting all my things together. I hurry along the street, discover
that I have forgotten a brief-case containing important papers,
dash breathlessly back again, find it at last, and then run towards
the station, but make hardly any headway. With a final effort I
rush on to the platform only to find the train steaming out into
the yards. It is very long, and runs in a curious S-shaped curve.
It occurs to me that if the driver is not careful, and puts on full
162

steam when he comes to the straight stretch, the rear coaches will
still be on the curve and will be thrown over by the speed of the

train. As a matter of fact the driver opens the throttle as I try to

shout. The rear coaches rock frightfully, and are actually thrown
off the rails. There is a terrible catastrophe. I awake in terror."

Here, too, we can understand without much difficulty the situa-

tion represented by the dream. It pictures the patient's frantic
haste to advance himself still further. Since the driver at the front

of the train goes thoughtlessly ahead, the coaches behind him

rock and finally overturn that is, a neurosis is developed. It
is clear that, at this period of life, the patient had reached the
the effort of the long ascent from
highest point of his career that
his lowly origin had exhausted his strength. He should have
contented himself with his achievements, but instead he is driven
by ambition to attempt to scale heights of success for which
his
he is fitted. The neurosis came upon him as a warning. Cir-
not
cumstances prevented my treating the patient, and my view of
his case did not satisfy him. The upshot was that events ran
their course in the way indicated by the dream. He tried to exploit
the professional openings that tempted his ambition and ran so
violently off the track that the train-wreck
was realized in actual
life. The patient's anamnesis permitted the inference that the
mountain-sickness pointed to his inability to climb any further.
The inference is confirmed by his dreams which present this in-
ability as a fact.
We here come upon a characteristic of dreams that must take
first place in any discussion of the applicability of dream-analysis
to the treatment of neuroses. The dream gives a true picture of
the subjective state, while the conscious mind denies that this
state exists, or recognizes it only grudgingly. The patient's con-
scious ego could see no reason why he should not go steadily
forward; he continued his struggle for advancement, refusing to
admit the fact which subsequent events made all too plain that
he was actually at the end of his tether. When, in such cases, we
listen to the dictatesof the conscious mind, we are always in
doubt. We can draw opposite conclusions from the patient's
anamnesis. After all, the private soldier may carry a marshal's
baton in his knapsack, and many a son of poor parents has
Dream Analysis in Its Practical Application 163

achieved the highest success. Why should it not be so in my pa-

tient'scase? Since my judgement is fallible, why should my own
conjecture be more dependable than his? At this point the dream
comes in as the expression of an involuntary psychic process not
controlled by the conscious outlook. It presents the subjective
state as it really is. It has no respect for my conjectures or for the
patient's views as to how things should be, but simply tells how
the matter stands. I have therefore made it a lule to put dreams
on a plane with physiological fact. If sugar appears in the urine,
then the urine contains sugar, and not albumen or urobilin or
something else that I may have been led to expect. This is to say
that I takedreams as facts that are invaluable for diagnosis.
It is way of dreams to give us more than we ask, and this
the
is true of those I have just cited as illustrations. They not only

allowed us an insight into the causes of the neurosis, but afforded

a prognosis as well. What is more, they showed us at what point
the treatment should begin. The patient must be prevented from
going full steam ahead. This is precisely what he tells himself in
the dream.
For the time being we will content ourselves with this hint, and
return to the question whether dreams enable us to explain the
causes of a neurosis. I have cited two dreams that actually do
this. But I could equally well cite any number of initial dreams

which do nothing of the kind, although they are perfectly trans-

parent. I do not wish for the present to consider drearas which
call for searching analysis and interpretation.
The point is that there are neuroses whose actual origins we
discover only at the very end of an analysis, and there are also
cases in which it is of no benefit to have discovered the origin of
the neurosis. This brings me back to the Freudian view, men-
tioned above, that for the purposes of therapy it is necessary for
the patient to become conscious of the causal factors in his dis-
turbance a view that is little more than a survival of the old
theory of the trauma. I do not, of course, deny that many neu-
roses have a traumatic origin; I simply contest the notion that all
neuroses are of this nature and arise without exception from some
crucial experience of childhood. This view of the question results
in a causalistic approach. The doctor must give his whole atten-
 164 C. G. Jung

lion to the patient's past; he must always ask: "Why?" and neglect
the equally pertinent question: "What for?" This is frequently
very harmful to the patient, for he is forced to search in his
memory perhaps over a course of years for a hypothetical
event in his childhood, while things of immediate importance are
grossly neglected. A
purely causalistic approach is too narrow to
do justice to the true significance, either of the dream, or of the
neurosis. A
person is biassed who turns to dreams for the sole
purpose of discovering the hidden cause of the neurosis, for he
leaves aside the larger part of the dream's actual contribution.
The dreams I have cited unmistakably present the setiological
factors in the neurosis; but it is clear that they also offer a prog-
nosis or anticipation of the future and a suggestion as to the
course of treatment as well. We
must furthermore bear in mind
that a great many dreams do not touch upon the causes of the
neurosis, but treat of quite different matters among others, of
the patient's attitude to the doctor. I should like to illustrate this
by recounting three dreams of the same patient. She consulted
three different analysts in turn, and at the beginning of each treat-
ment she had one of these dreams.
Here is the first: "I must cross the frontier into the next coun-
try, but no one can tell me where the boundary lies, and I can-
not find it." The treatment which followed this dream was
unsuccessful, and was soon broken off.

The second dream is as follows: "I must cross the frontier.

It is a black night, and I cannot find the customhouse. After a
long search I notice a small light far away and suppose that the
frontier lies over there. But in order to reach it, I must cross a

valley and pass through a dark wood, in which I lose my sense

of direction. Then I notice that someone is with me. This per-
son suddenly clings to me like a madman and I awake in terror."
That treatment also was discontinued after a few weeks, the
reason being that the patient was completely disoriented by the
analyst's unconscious identification with her.
The thirddream took place when the patient came into my
hands. It runs: "Imust cross a frontier, or rather, I have already
crossed it, and find myself in a Swiss customhouse. I have only a
handbag with me, and believe that I have nothing to declare. But
Dream. Analysis in Its Practical Application 165

the customs official dives into my bag and, to my astonishment,

pulls out two The
patient married during
full-sized mattresses."
the course of her treatment with me, but not without a violent
resistance to this step. The cause of her neurotic resistance came
to light only after many months, and there is not a hint of it

anywhere in these dreams. They are without exception anticipa-

tions of the difficulties she is to have with the analysts to whom
she has come for treatment.
I could cite many other dreams to the same effect, but these
may suffice to show that dreams can be anticipatory and, in that
case, mustlose their particular meaning if they are treated in a

purely causalistic way. These three dreams give clear information

about the analytical situation, and it is extremely important for
the purposes of therapy that this be rightly understood. The first
doctor understood the situation and sent the patient to the second.
Here she drew her own conclusions from her dream, and decided
to leave. My interpretation of her third dream disappointed her
greatly, but she was distinctly encouraged to go on in spite of all
by the fact that it reported the frontier already crossed.
difficulties
Initial dreams are often amazingly transparent and clear-cut.
But as the work of analysis progresses, the dreams in a little while
cease to be clear. If they should prove exceptional, and keep their
clarity, we can be sure that the analysis has as yet not touched
some important part of the personality. As a rule, the dreams
become less transparent, and more blurred, shortly after the
beginning of the treatment. It becomes increasingly difficult to
interpret them, a further reason for this being that a point may
soon be reached where the doctor is unable, if the truth be told,
to understand the situation as a whole. This is how the matter
really stands, for to say that the dreams are unintelligible is a
mere reflection of the doctor's subjective opinion. Nothing is
unclear to the understanding; it is only when we fail to under-
stand that things appear unintelligible and confused. In them-
selves, dreams are clear that is, they are just as they must be
under the given conditions. If we look back at these "unintel-
ligible" dreams from a later stage of
the treatment or from a
distance of some years, we are often astounded at our own blind-
ness. It is a fact that, as an analysis progresses, we come upon
166 C. G. Jung

dreams that are strikingly obscure in comparison with the ini-

tial dreams. But the doctor should not be too sure that the later

dreams are really confused, or be too hasty in accusing the pa-

tient of deliberate resistance. He would do better to take the fact
as an indication of his own growing inability to understand the
situation. The psychiatrist likewise is prone to a patient "con-
call

fused" when he would do well to recognize the projection and

admit his own confusion, for it is really his understanding that

grows confused in face of the patient's strange behaviour. For

the purposes of therapy, moreover, it is highly important for the
analyst to admit his lack of understanding
from time to time, for
nothing is more unbearable for the patient than to be always un-

derstood. The latter in any case relies too much upon the mysteri-
ous insight of the doctor, and, by appealing to his professional
in the
vanity, lays a dangerous trap for him. By taking refuge
doctor's self-confidence and "profound" understanding, the pa-
tient loses all sense of reality, falls into a stubborn transference,
and retards the cure.
Understandingis clearly a subjective process. It may be very

one-sided, in that the physician understands while the patient does

not. In such a case the doctor sometimes feels it his duty to con-
vince the patient, and if the latter will not allow himself to be con-
vinced, the doctor accuses him of resistance* When the under-
standing is all on my side, I find it advisable to stress my lack of
understanding. It is relatively unimportant whether the doctor
understands or not, but everything hangs on the patient's doing
so. What is really needed is a mutual agreement which is the fruit
of joint reflection. It is one-sided, and therefore dangerous, under-
standing for the doctor to prejudge the dream from the stand-
point of a certain doctrine and to make
a pronouncement which

may be theoretically sound, but does not win the patient's assent.
In so far as the pronouncement fails in this respect, it is incor-
rect in the practical sense; and it may also be incorrect in the
sense that it anticipates and thereby cripples the actual develop-
ment of the patient. We
appeal only to the patient's brain if we
try to inculcate a truth; but if we help him to grow up to this
truth in the course of his own development, we have reached his
Dream Analysis in Its Practical Application 167

heart, and this appeal goes deeper and acts with greater force.
When the doctor's interpretation is based merely upon a one-
sided theory or a preconceived opinion, his chances of
convincing
the patient or of achieving any therapeutic results depend chiefly
upon suggestion. And let no one deceive himself as to the effects
of suggestion. In itself suggestion is not to be despised, but it
has serious limitations, and reacts upon the patient's independ-
ence of character in a very undesirable way. practising analyst A
may be supposed to believe in the significance and value of the
widening of consciousness I mean by this the procedure of
bringing to light the parts of the personality which were previ-
ously unconscious and subjecting them to conscious discrimina-
tion and criticism. It is an undertaking which requires the patient
to face his problems, and taxes his powers of conscious judgment
and decision. It is nothing less than a challenge to the ethical
sense, a call to arms that must be answered by the whole per-
sonality. Therefore, with respect to personal development, the
analytical approach is of a higher order than methods of treat-
ment based upon suggestion. This is a kind of magic that works
in the dark and makes no ethical demands upon the personality.
Methods of treatment based upon suggestion are deceptive make-
shifts; they are incompatible with the principles of analytical

therapy, and should be avoided. But suggestion can of course

be avoided only when the doctor is aware of the many doors
through which it can enter. There remains in the best of circum-
stances enough and more than enough unconscious sugges-
tion.
The analyst who wishes to rule out conscious suggestion must
consider any dream interpretation invalid that does not win the
assent of the patient, and he must search until he finds a formu-
lation that does. This is a rule which, I believe, must always be
observed, especially in dealing with those dreams whose obscurity
is evidence of lack of understanding on the part of the doctor as

well as of the patient. The doctor should regard every dream as a

new departure as a source of information about unknown con-
ditions concerning which he has as much to learn as the patient.
It goes without saying that he should hold no preconceived
168 C. G. Jung

opinions based upon a particular theory, but stand ready in every

single case to construct a totally new theory of dreams. There is
still a boundless opportunity for pioneer-work in this field.

The view that dreams are merely imaginary fulfilments of sup-

pressed wishes has long ago been superseded. It is certainly true
that there are dreams which embody suppressed wishes and fears,
but what is there which the dream cannot on occasion embody?
Dreams may give expression to ineluctable truths, to philosoph-
ical pronouncements, illusions, wild fantasies, memories, plans,

anticipations, irrational experiences, even telepathic visions,

and heaven knows what besides. One thing we ought never to
forget: almost the half of our lives is passed in a more or less
unconscious state. The dream is specifically the utterance of the
unconscious. We may
call consciousness the daylight realm of

the human
psyche, and contrast it with the nocturnal realm of
unconscious psychic activity which we apprehend as dreamlike
fantasy. It is certain that consciousness consists not only of wishes

and fears, but of vastly more than these, and it is highly probable
that the unconscious psyche contains a wealth of contents and

living forms equalto or even greater than does consciousness,

which characterized by concentration, limitation and exclusion.
is

This being the state of affairs, it is imperative that we should

not pare down the meaning of a dream to fit some narrow doc-
trine. Wemust remember that there are not a few patients who
imitate the technical or theoretical jargon of the doctor, and do
this even in their dreams. No language exists that cannot be mis-
used. It is hard to realize how badly we are fooled by the abuse
of ideas; it even seems as if the unconscious had a way of stran-
gling the physician in the coils of his own theory. All this being
so, I leave theory aside as much as possible in analysing dreams.
We cannot, of course, dispense with theory entirely, for it is
needed to make things intelligible. It is on the basis of theory,
for instance, that I expect dreams to have a meaning. I cannot
prove in every case that dreams are meaningful, for there are
dreams that neither doctor nor patient understands. But I must re-
gard them as hypothetically meaningful in order to find courage
to deal with them at all. To say that dreams contribute in an

important way to conscious knowledge, and that a dream which

Dream Analysis in Its Practical Application 169

fails to do so Is a dream which has not been properly interpreted

--this, too, is a theoretical statement. But I must adopt this
hypothesis in order to make it clear to myself why I analyse
dreams. On the other hand, every hypothesis about the nature of
the dream, its function and structure, is merely a rule of thumb
and must be subject to constant modifications. We must never
forget in dream-analysis, even for a moment, that we move on*
treacherous ground where nothing is certain but uncertainty. A
suitable warning to the dream-interpreter if only it were not

so paradoxical would be: "Do anything you like, only don't

try to understand!'*
When we take up an obscure dream, our first task is not to
understand and interpret it, but to establish the context with
minute care. What I have in mind is not a boundless sweep of
"free associations" starting from any and every image in the
dream, but a careful and conscious illumination of those chains
of association that are directly connected with particular images.
Many patients have first to be educated to this task, for they
resemble the doctor in their urgent desire to understand and to
interpret offhand. This is particularly the case when they have
already been educated or rather, miseducated by their read-
ing or by a previous analysis that went wrong. They give associ-
ations in accordance with a theory; that is, they try to under-
stand and interpret, and thus they nearly always get stuck. Like
the doctor, they wish at once to get behind the dream in the
false belief that it is a mere facade concealing the true meaning.

Perhaps we may call the dream a facade, but we must remember

that the fronts of most houses by no means trick or deceive us,,
but, on the contrary, follow the plan of the building and oftem
betray inner arrangement. The "manifest" dream-picture is the
its

dream and contains the "latent" meaning. If I find sugar

itself,
in the urine, it is sugar, and not a fagade that conceals albumen.
When Freud speaks of the "dream-fagade," he is really speak-
ing, not of the dream itself, but of its obscurity, and in so>
doing is projecting upon the dream his own lack of understand-
ing. We say that the dream has a false front only because we
fail to see into it. We
would do better to say that we are deal-
ing with something like a text that is unintelligible, not because it
170 C. G. Jung

has a fagade, but simply because we cannot read it. We do not

have to get behind such a text in the first place, but must learn
to read it.

We shall best succeed in reading dreams by establishing their

context, as already remarked. We shall not succeed with the
help of free associations, any more than we could use that
means to decipher a Hittite inscription. Free associations will

help me to uncover all own complexes, but for this purpose

my
I need not start from the dream I might as well take a sentence
in a newspaper or a "Keep out" sign. If we associate freely to
a dream, our complexes will turn up right enough, but we shall
hardly ever discover the meaning of the dream. To do this, we
must keep as close as possible to the dream-images themselves.
When a person has dreamed of a deal table, little is accomplished
by his associating it with his writing-desk which is not made of
deal. The dream refers expressly to a deal table. If at this point

nothing occurs to the dreamer his hesitation signifies that a

particular darkness surrounds the dream-image, and this is
suspicious. We would expect him to have dozens of associations
to a deal table, and when he cannot find a single one, this must
have a meaning. In such cases we should return again and again
to the image. I say to my patients: "Suppose I had no idea what
the words 'deal table' mean. Describe this object and give me
its history in such a way that I cannot fail to understand what

sort of thing it is." We succeed in this way in establishing a good

part of the context of that particular dream-image. When we

have done this for all the images in the dream, we are ready for

the venture of interpretation.

Every interpretation is hypothetical, for it is a mere attempt
to read an unfamiliar text. An
obscure dream, taken by itself
can rarely be interpreted with any certainty, so that I attach little
importance to the interpretation of single dreams. With a series
of dreams we can have more confidence in our interpretations,
for the later dreams correct the mistakes we have made in
handling those that went before. We are also better able, in a
dream series, to recognize the important contents and basic
themes, and I therefore urge my patients to make a careful
record of their dreams and the interpretations given them. I also
Dream Analysis in Its Practical Application 171

show them how to work up their dreams in the way I have

just indicated, so thatthey can bring me in writing the dream
and the material that forms the context of the dream. In later
stages of analysis I let them work out the interpretations as
well. The patient learns in this way how to consult the uncon-
scious without the doctor's help.
If dreams did nothing more than inform us about the causal
factors in a neurosis, we could safely let the doctor handle them
alone. Myway of dealing with them, moreover, would be quite
superfluous if all that we could expect of them were a collection
of hints and insights helpful to the doctor. But since it is probable,
as I have shown in a few examples, that dreams contain more
than practical helps for the doctor, dream-analysis deserves very
special consideration. Sometimes, indeed, it is a matter of life
and death.
Among many cases of this sort, I have been especially im-
pressed with one that concerned a colleague of mine in Zurich.
He was a man somewhat older than myself whom I saw from
time to time, and who always teased me on these occasions about
iny interest in dream-interpretation. I met him one day in the
street, and he called out to me: "How are things going? Are

you still interpreting dreams? By the way, I've had another

idiotic dream. Does it mean something too?" He had dreamed
as follows: "1 am climbing a high mountain over steep, snow-
covered slopes. I mount higher and higher it is marvellous
weather. The higher I climb, the better I feel. I think: 'If only I
could go on climbing like this for ever!' When
reach the sum-
I

mit, my happiness and elation are so strong that

I feel I could
mount right up into space. And I discover that I actually can
do this. I go on climbing on empty air. I awake in a real ecstasy."
When he had told me his dream, I said: "My dear man, I know
you can't give up mountaineering, but let me implore you not
to go alone from now on. When you go, take two guides, and

you must promise on your word of honour to follow their direc-

tions." "Incorrigible!" he replied laughing, and said good-bye. I
never saw him again. Two months later came the first blow.
When out alone, he was buried by an avalanche, but was dug out
in the nick of time by a military patrol which happened to come
 172 C. (?. Jung

along. Three months after this the end came. He went on a climb
accompanied by a younger friend, but without guides. An alpinist
standing below saw him literally step out into the air as he was
letting himself down a rock wall. He fell on to the head of
tiis friend, who was waiting beneath him, and both were dashed

to pieces far below. That was ecstasis in the full meaning of

the word.
No amount of scepticism and critical reserve has ever enabled
me to regard dreams as negligible occurrences. Often enough
they appear senseless, but it is obviously we who lack the sense
and the ingenuity to read the enigmatical message from the
nocturnal realm of the psyche. When we see that at least a
half of man's life is passed in this realm, that consciousness has
its and that the unconscious operates in and out of
roots there,

waking existence, it would seem incumbent upon medical psy-

chology to sharpen its perceptions by a systematic study of
dreams. No one doubts the importance of conscious experience;
why then should we question the importance of unconscious hap-
penings? They also belong to human life, and they are sometimes
more truly a part of it for weal or woe than any events of the
day.
Dreams give information about the secrets of the inner life
and reveal to the dreamer hidden factors of his personality. As
long as these are undiscovered, they disturb his waking life
and betray themselves only in the form of symptoms. This
means that we cannot effectively treat the patient from the side
of consciousness alone, but must bring about a change in and
-through the unconscious. As far as present knowledge goes,
rfhere is only one way of doing this: there must be a thorough-
going, conscious assimilation of unconscious contents. By "as-
similation," I mean a mutual interpenetration of conscious and
unconscious contents, and not as is too commonly thought a
one-sided valuation, interpretation and deformation of uncon-
scious contents by the conscious mind. As to the value and
significance of unconscious contents in general, very mistaken
views are abroad. It is well known that the Freudian school pre-
sents the unconscious in a thoroughly depreciatory light, just as
also it looks on primitive man as little better than a wild beast.
Dream Analysis in Its Practical Application 173

Its nursery-tales about the terrible old man of the tribe and its

teachings about the "infantile-perverse-criminal" unconscious

have led people to make a dangerous monster out of the un-
conscious, that really very natural thing. As if all that is good,
reasonable, beautiful and worth living for had taken up its abode
in consciousness! Have the horrors of the World War really
not opened our eyes? Are we still unable to see that man's
conscious mind is even more devilish and perverse than the
unconscious?
I was recently reproached with the charge that my teaching
about the assimilation of the unconscious, were it
accepted,
would undermine culture and exalt primitivity at the cost of
our highest values. Such an opinion can have no foundation
other than the erroneous belief that the unconscious is a monster.
Such a view arises from fear of nature and of life as it actually is.
Freud has invented the idea of sublimation to save us from the
imaginary claws of the unconscious. But what actually exists
cannot be alchemistically sublimated, and if anything is appar-
ently sublimated, it never was what a false interpretation took
it to be.
The unconscious is not a demonic monster, but a
thing of
nature that is perfectly neutral as far as moral sense, aesthetic
taste and intellectual judgement go. It is dangerous only when
our conscious attitude towards it becomes hopelessly false. And
thisdanger grows in the measure that we practise repressions. But
as soon as the patient begins to assimilate the contents that were
previously unconscious, the danger from the side of the uncon-
scious diminishes. As the process of assimilation goes on, it puts
an end to the dissociation of the personality and to the anxiety
that attends and inspires the separation of the two realms of the

psyche. That which my critic feared I mean the overwhelming

of consciousness by the unconscious is most likely to occur
when the unconscious is excluded from life by repressions, or
is misunderstood and depreciated.

A fundamental mistake, and one which is commonly made,

is this: it is supposed that the contents of the unconscious are

unequivocal and are marked with plus or minus signs that are
immutable. As I see the question, this view is too naive. The
174 C. G. Jung

psyche is a self-regulating system that maintains itself in equi-

librium as the body does. Every process that goes too far im-
mediately and inevitably calls forth a compensatory activity.
Without such adjustments a normal metabolism would not exist,
nor would the normal psyche. We can take the idea of com-
pensation, so understood, as a law of psychic happening. Too
little on one side results in too much on the other. The relation

between conscious and unconscious is compensatory. This fact,

which is easily verifiable, affords a rule for dream interpretation.
It isalways helpful, when we set out to interpret a dream, to ask;
What conscious attitude does it compensate?
Although compensation may take the form of imaginary wish-
fulfilment, it generally presents itself as an actuality which be-
comes the more strikingly actual the more we try to repress
it. We know that we do not conquer thirst by repressing it. The
dream-content is to be taken in all seriousness as something thai
has actually happened to us; it should be treated as a contributory
factor in framing our conscious outlook. If we do not do this, we
shall keep that one-sided, conscious attitude which evoked the
unconscious compensation in the first place. But this way holds
little hope of our ever judging ourselves correctly or finding

any balance in life.

If anyone should set out to replace his conscious outlook by
the dictates of the unconscious and this is the prospect which
my critics find so alarming he would only succeed in repress-
ing the former, and it would reappear as an unconscious com-
pensation. The unconscious would thus have changed its face
and completely reversed its position. It would have become
timidly reasonable, in striking contrast to its former tone. It is
not generally believed that the unconscious operates in this way,
yet such reversals constantly take place and constitute its essen-
tial function. This is why every dream is a source of information

and a means of and why dreams are our most

self-regulation,
effective aids in the task of building up the personality.
The unconscious itself does not harbour explosive materials,
but it may become explosive owing to the repressions exercised by
a or cowardly, conscious outlook. All the more
self-sufficient,
reason, then, for giving heed to that side! It should now be clear
Dream Analysis in Its Practical Application 175

why I have made it a practical rule always to ask, before trying

to interpret a dream: What conscious attitude does it compen-
sate? As may be seen, I thus bring the dream into the closest

possible connection with the conscious state. I even maintain

that it is impossible to interpret a dream with any degree of
certainty unless we know what the conscious situation is. For it is
only in the light of this knowledge that we can make out whether
the unconscious content carries a plus or minus sign. The dream
is not an isolated psychic event completely cut off from daily
seems so to us, that is only an illusion that arises from
life. If it

our lack of understanding. In reality, the relation between con-

sciousness and the dream is strictly causal, and they interact in
the subtlest of ways.
should like to show with the help of an illustration how
I

important it is to find the true value of unconscious contents.

A young man brought me the following dream: "My father is
driving away from the house in his new car. He drives very
clumsily, and I get very excited about his apparent stupidity.
He goes this way and that, forward and backward, repeatedly
getting the car into a tight place. Finally he runs into a wall and
badly damages the car. I shout at him in a perfect rage, telling
him he ought to behave himself. My
father only laughs, and then
I see that he is dead drunk." There is no foundation in fact for
the dream. The dreamer is convinced that his father would never
behave in that way, even if he were drunk. The dreamer him-
self is used to cars; he is a careful driver, and very moderate
in the use of alcohol, especially when he has to drive. Bad driving,
and even slight injuries to the car, irritate him greatly. The son's
relation to his father is good. He admires him for being an
unusually successful man. We can say, without any attempt at
interpretation, that the dream presents a very unfavorable pic-
ture of the father. What, then, should we take its meaning to
be as far as the son is concerned? Is his relation to his father

good only in appearance, and does it really consist of over-

compensated resistances? If this is so we should attribute a plus
sign to the dream-content; we should have to tell the young
man: "This is your actual relation to your father." But since
I could find nothing equivocal or neurotic in the facts about
176 C. G. Jung

the son's relation to his father, I had no warrant for disturbing

the young man's feelings with such a destructive pronounce-
ment. To do so would have prejudiced the outcome of the treat-
ment.
if his relation to his father is really excellent, why must
But
the dream manufacture such an improbable story to discredit
the father? The dreamer's unconscious must have a distinct
tendency to produce such a dream. Has the young man resistances
to his father, after all, which are perhaps fed by jealousy or a
certain sense of inferiority? But before we go out of our way
to burden his conscience and with sensitive young people there
is always the risk that we do this too lightly we had better,
for once, drop the question of why he had this dream, and
ask ourselves instead: What for? The answer, in this case, would
be that his unconscious clearly tries to depreciate his father.
If we take this as a compensation, we are forced to the con-
clusion that his relation to his father not only good, but even
is

too good. The younger man actually deserves the French so-
briquet of fils & papa. His father is still too much the guarantor
of his existence, and he is still living what I call a provisional
life. He runs the risk of failing to realize himself because there
is too much "father" on every side. This is why the unconscious
manufactures a kind of blasphemy: it seeks to lower the father
and to elevate the son. "An immoral business," we may be
tempted to say. Every father who lacks insight would be on
his guard here. And yet this compensation is entirely to the
point. It forces the son to contrast himself with his father, and
that is the only way in which he can become aware of himself.
The interpretation just outlined was apparently the correct
one, for it struck home. It won the spontaneous assent of the
young man, and did no violence to his feeling for his father,
or to the father's feeling for him. But this interpretation was
only possible when the father-son relation had been studied in
the light of all the facts that were accessible to consciousness.
Without a knowledge of the conscious situation the true mean-
ing of the dream would have remained in doubt.
It is of the first importance for the assimilation of dream-

contents that no violence be done to the real values of the

Dream Analysis in Its Practical Application 177

conscious personality. If the conscious personality is destroyed,

or even crippled, there is no one left to do the assimilating.
When we recognize the importance of the unconscious we are
not embarking upon a Bolshevist experiment which puts the low-
est on top. This would only bring about a return of the situation
we are trying to correct. We must see to it that the conscious
personality remains intact, for we can only turn the unconscious
compensations to good account when the conscious personality
co-operates in the venture. When it conies to the assimilation of
a content it is never a question of "this or that," but of "this
and that."
Just as the interpretation of dreams requires exact knowledge
of the conscious status quo, so the treatment of dream symbolism
demands that we take into account the dreamer's philosophical,
religious and moral convictions. It is far wiser in practice not to
regard the dream-symbols as signs or symptoms of a fixed char-
acter. We should rather take them as true symbols that is to
say, as expressions of something not yet consciously recognized
or conceptually formulated. In addition to this, they must be
considered in relation to the dreamer's immediate state of con-
sciousness. I emphasize that this way of treating the dream-
symbols is advisable in practice because theoretically there do
exist relatively fixed symbols whose meaning must on no account
be referred to anything whose content is known, or to anything
that can be formulated in concepts. If there were no relatively
fixed symbols, it would be impossible to determine the structure
of the unconscious. There would be nothing in it which could be
in any way laid hold of or described.
may seem strange that I should attribute an indefinite con-
It
tent to the relatively fixed symbols. But it is the indefinite content
that marks the symbol as against the mere sign or symptom. It
is well known that the Freudian school operates with hard and

fast sexual "symbols"; but these are just what I should call signs,
for they are made to stand for sexuality, and this is supposed
to be something definitive. As a matter of fact, Freud's concept
of sexuality is thoroughly elastic, and so vague that it can be
made to include almost anything. The word itself is familiar,
but what it denotes amounts to an indeterminable or variable *
178 C- G. Jung

that stands for the physiological activity of the glands at one

extreme and the highest reaches of the spirit at the other. Instead
of taking a dogmatic stand that rests upon the illusion that we
know something because we have a familiar word for it, I prefer
to regard the symbol as the announcement of something un-

known, hard to recognize and not to be fully determined. Take,

for instance, the so-called phallic symbols, which are supposed
to stand for the membrum virile and nothing more. Psychologi-
as Kranefeldt has recently
cally speaking, the membrum is
itself

wider content cannot easily

pointed out a symbolic image whose
be determined. As was customary throughout antiquity, primitive
people today make a free use of phallic symbols, yet it never
occurs to them to confuse the phallus, as a ritualistic symbol,
with the penis. They always take the phallus to mean the creative
mana, the power of healing and fertility, "that which is un-
Its equivalents in
usually potent," to use Lehmann's expression.
the pomegranate,
mythology and in dreams are the bull, the ass,
the yoni, the he-goat, the lightning, the horse's hoof, the dance,
the magical cohabitation in the furrow, and the menstrual fluid,
to mention only a few of many. That which underlies all of these
images and sexuality itself is an archetypal content that is
hard to grasp, and that finds its best psychological expression in
the primitive mana symbol. In each of the images given above
we can see a relatively fixed symbol i.e. the mana symbol
but we cannot for all that be certain that when they occur in
dreams they have no other meaning.
The practical need may call for quite another interpretation.
To be sure, if we had to interpret dreams in an exhaustive way
according to scientific principles, we should have to refer ever>
such symbol to an archetype. But, in practice, this kind of
interpretation might be a grave blunder,
for the patient's psy-

chological state may require anything rather than the giving

of attention to a theory of dreams. It is therefore advisable, for
the purposes of therapy, to look for the meaning of symbols as
they relate to the conscious situation in other words, to treat
them as if they were not fixed. This is as much as to say that we
must renounce all preconceived opinions, however knowing they
make us feel, and try to discover the meaning of things for the
Dream Analysis in Its Practical Application 179

patient. If we do this, our interpretations will obviously not go

very far towards satisfying a theory of dreams; in fact, they may
fall very short in this respect. But if the practitioner operates too

much with fixed symbols, there is danger of his falling into mere
routine and dogmatism, thus failing to meet the patient's need.
It is unfortunate that, to illustrate the above, I should have to

go into greater detail than space here permits, but I have else-
where published illustrative material that amply supports my
statements.
As already remarked, it frequently happens at the very be-
ginning of a treatment, that a dream reveals to the doctor, in
a wide perspective, the general direction in which the uncon-
scious is moving. But, for practical reasons, it may not be
feasible to make clear to the patient, at this early stage, the
deeper meaning of his dream. The demands of therapy are
binding upon us in this way When the doctor gains such
also.
a far-reaching insight, thanks to his experience in the
it is

matter of relatively fixed symbols. Such insight can be of the

very greatest value in diagnosis and in prognosis as well. I was
once consulted in the case of a seventeen-year-old girl. One spe-
cialist had suggested that she might be in the first stages of

progressive atrophy of the muscles, while another thought that

she was a hysteric. Because of this second opinion, I was called
in. The clinical picture made me suspect an organic disease, but

the girl showed traits of hysteria as well. I asked for dreams.

The patient answered at once: "Yes, I have terrible dreams.
Just recently I dreamed I was coming home at night. Every-
thing is as quiet as death. The door into the living-room is
half open, and I see my mother hanging from the chandelier
and swinging to and fro in a cold wind that blows in through
the open windows. At another time I dreamed that a terrible
noise breaks out in the house at night. I go to see what has
happened, and find that a frightened horse is tearing through
the rooms. At last it finds the door into the hall, and jumps
through the hall window from the fourth floor down into the
street I was terrified to see it lying below, all mangled."
The way in which these dreams allude to death is enough to
give one pause. But many persons have anxiety dreams nov-
180 C. G. Jung

and then. We must therefore look more closely into the mean-
ing of the outstanding symbols, "mother" and "horse." These
figuresmust be equivalent one to the other, for they both do
the same thing: they commit suicide. The mother symbol is
archetypal and refers to a place of origin, to nature, that which
passively creates, hence to substance and matter, to material
nature, the lower body (womb) and the vegetative functions.
It connotes also the unconscious, natural and instinctive life,

ihe physiological realm, the body in which we dwell or are

contained, for the "mother" is also a vessel, the hollow form

(uterus') that carries and nourishes, and it thus stands for the
foundations of consciousness. Being within something or con-
tained in something suggests darkness, the nocturnal a state
of anxiety. With these allusions I am presenting the idea of the
mother in many of its mythological and etymological transfor-

mations; I am also giving an important part of the yin concept

of Chinese philosophy. All this is dream-content, but it is not
something which the seventeen-year-old girl has acquired in her
individual existence; rather a bequest from the past. On the
it is

one hand it has been kept alive by the language, and on the
other hand it is inherited with the structure of the psyche and
is therefore to be found in all times and among all peoples.

The familiar word "mother" refers apparently to the best-

known of mothers in particular to "my mother." But the mother
symbol points to meaning which eludes conceptual
a darker
formulation and can only be vaguely apprehended as the hidden,
nature-bound life of the body. Yet even this expression is too
narrow, and excludes too many pertinent side-meanings. The
psychic reality which underlies this symbol is so inconceivably
complex that we can only discern it from afar off, and then but
very dimly. It is such realities that call for symbolic expression.
If we apply our findings to the dream, its meaning will be:
the unconscious life destroys itself. That is the dream's message
:o the conscious mind of the dreamer and to everyone who has

;ars to hear.
"Horse" is an archetype that is widely current in mythology
and folk-lore. As an animal it represents the non-human psyche,
Dream Analysis in Its Practical Application 18!

the sub-human, animal side, and therefore the unconscious. This

is the horse in folk-lore sometimes sees visions, hears voices,
why
and speaks. As a beast of burden it is closely related to the
mother-archetype; the Valkyries bear the dead hero to Valhalla
and the Trojan horse encloses the Greeks. As an animal lower
than man it represents the lower part of the body and the
animal drives that take their rise from there. The horse is dy-
namic power and a means of locomotion; it carries one away
like a surge of instinct. It is subject to panics like all instinctive
creatures who lack higher consciousness. Also it has to do with
sorcery and magical spells especially the black, night horse
which heralds death.
It is evident, then, that "horse" is the equivalent of "mother"

with a slight shift of meaning. The mother stands for life at its
origin, and the horse for the merely animal life of the body. If
we apply this meaning to the dream, it says: the animal life
destroys itself.

The two dreams make nearly the same assertion, but, as is

usually the case, the second is more specific. The peculiar
subtlety of the dream is brought out in both instances: there
is no mention of the death of the individual. It is notorious
that one often dreams of one's own death, but that is no serious
matter. When it is really a question of death, the dream speaks
another language. Both of these dreams, then, point to a serious,
and even fatal, organic disease. The prognosis was shortly after
borne out in fact.
As for the relatively fixed symbols, this example gives a fair
idea of their general nature. There are a great many of them,
and they may differ in individual cases by subtle shifts of
meaning. It is only through comparative studies in mythology,
folk-lore, religion and language that we can determine these
symbols in a scientific way. The evolutionary stages through
which the human psyche has passed are more clearly discernible
in the dream than in consciousness. The dream speaks in images,
and gives expression to instincts, that are derived from the most
primitive levels of nature. Consciousness all too easily departs
from the law of nature; but it can be brought again into harmony
182 C. G. Jung

with the latter by the assimilation of unconscious contents. By

fostering this process we lead the patient to the rediscovery of
the law of his own being.
I have not been able, in so short a space, to deal
with any-
I could not put together,
thing hut the elements of the subject,
before your eyes, stone by stone, the edifice that is reared in
the unconscious and finds
every analysis from the materials of
the total personality. The way
its completion in the restoration of
curative re-
of successive assimilations reaches far beyond the
concern the doctor. It leads in the end
sults that specifically

to that distant goal (which may perhaps

have been the first
to the bringing into reality of the whole human being
urge life),
that individuation. We physicians are without doubt the
is,

first scientific observers of these obscure processes of nature.

As a rule we see only a pathological phase of the development,

and lose sight of the patient as soon as he is cured. But it
is only the cure has been effected that we are in a position
when
to study thenormal process of change, itself a matter of years
or decades. If we had some knowledge of the ends towards
which unconscious, psychic growth is tending, and if our psy-
chological insight were not drawn exclusively from the pathologi-
cal phase, we should have a less confused idea of the processes
revealed by dreams and a clearer recognition of what it is that

the symbols point to. In my opinion, every doctor should be

aware of the fact that psychotherapy in general, and analysis in
that breaks into a purposeful and
particular, is a procedure
continuous development, now here and now there, and thus

singles out particular phases which may seem to follow oppos-

itself shows only one part
ing courses. Since every analysis by
or aspect of the deeper course of development, nothing but
hopeless confusion can result from
casuistic comparisons. For

this reason I have preferred to confine myself to the rudiments

of the subject and to practical considerations. It is only in actual

contact with the facts as they occur that we can come to anything
like a satisfactory agreement.
 Childhood

One of the most far-reaching consequences of Freud's work

has been to focus attention on the psychic forces in the develop-
ment of the child and to modify the nature of child rearing.
His conclusions concerning childhood sexuality and the role the
parents play in its normal or aberrant development were revolu-
tionary. However, he provided what many feel to be a rather
limited view of parent-child relationships. He saw parent-child
difficulties as arising through conflicts centered about libidinal
development and hence did not take into account sufficiently
the myriad of other influences in the parent-child relationship,
notably the presence or absence of love and anxiety in the parent.
That the mother-child relationship is one of dynamic interaction
isshown in the paper by Benedek, who also shows the correlation
between the emotional and hormonal states of the mother.
Freud believed that the amnesia for childhood experiences
arose because of the need to repress the memory of early sexual
impulses. The paper by Schachtel suggests another theory, one
which much more plausibly explains why the amnesia is not
limited to sexual material. But whichever theory one uses to
explain the infantile amnesia, it is clear that retrospective recon-
struction from adult material has great possibilities for error,
as Freud discovered, since may be difficult to differentiate be-
it

tween fantasy and fact. As

a consequence of these difficulties,
observation of child play as though it were free association has
been developed as a fruitful method for gathering data and is
widely used in child therapy. The paper by Erikson concerns it"
self with this subject.
On the basis of the libido theory, Freud concluded that the
crucial period in the child-parent relationship was the first five
to eight years, and that little of determining significance was
likely to occur after that period. On the basis of an interpersonal
theory in which sex is held to be only one factor, though an
183
184 Childhood

important one, in childhood development, Sullivan emphasizes

two vital conceptions: the effects of the whole field of interper-
sonal r elatedness and the malleability of the personality both for
constructive and non-constructive development through adoles-
cence.
 12

THERESE BENEDEK

The Psychosomatic Implications of

the Primary Unit: Mother-Child*

In the recent literature, several observations have been published

demonstrating that the child, by some not clearly defined psychic
process, incorporates the emotional attitudes of the mother, em-
bodies her anxiety, and develops symptoms which the mother
used to have or might have had. 1 The motivations which play a
role in the presenting symptom of the child also exist in the
mother and can be by analysis. The dynamics of such
elicited

preconscious or unconscious communication between mother and

child may be by a better understanding of the psychobio-
clarified

logical factors which motivate motherhood and motherliness.

This discussion deals with the psychodynamics of the symbio-
siswhich exists during pregnancy, is interrupted at birth, but
remains a functioning force, directing and motivating the mental
and somatic interaction between mother and child.
As long as gratification of the emotional need for motherhood
was fulfilled without interference by human controls, one rarely

Reprinted by permission from Psychosexual Functions in Women (New

*

York, 1952). Copyright 1952 The Ronald Press Company. Originally pub-
lished in the American Journal of Orthopsychiatry, Vol. 19, 1949.
x
Beata Rank [1] and her collaborators observed such psychic transmission
of conflict constellations to children who became feeding problems. Betty
in infants of five to seven months who
Joseph [2] has shown the same
the
developed biting symptoms and anxiety. Margaret Fries [3] investigated
interaction between mother and infant during the lying-in period, and Dr.
Rene" Spitz [4j demonstrated the infant's reactions to the mother's depression.
185
1$6 Therese Benedek

had opportunity to study the primary psychobiological factors

in childbearing. The behavior manifestations which are usually
accessible to psychoanalysis reveal that the woman's identifica-
tion with her mother motivates her attitude toward motherhood
and determines her behavior toward her children. While such
psychoanalytic observations elucidate
how emotionally deter-
mined attitudes may be carried over from generation to genera-
do not answer the question whether there is a genuine,
tion, they
need (instinct, in Freud's sense) which
primary psychological
directs the woman's desire for conception and motherhood
and
motivates her motherliness.
The study of the sexual cycle in women [5] a detailed analy-

sis of the emotional processes as they

unfold in correlation with
the hormonal cycle of the ovaries has thrown new light upon
the female psychosexual organization.
A complete discussion of the sexual cycle
is beyond the scope

of this presentation. In order to elucidate the psychology of

motherhood, however, I shall discuss one phase of the cycle, the

progestin phase. After ovulation, the wall of the

postovulative,
ruptured follicle, from which the
ovum has escaped, undergoes
a process of luteinization and produces a hormone called lutein
or progestin. The function of this hormone is to prepare the mu-
cous membrane of the uterus to receive the impregnated ovum
and to help to maintain pregnancy if conception occurs. If con-
declines after
ception does not occur, the progestin production
four to six days, the uterine mucosa breaks down, and the uterus
is prepared for menstruation. The emotional state which develops

in correlation with the progestin phase can be compared with

the "quiet period" in lower mammals. The psychic apparatus
seems to register the somatic preparation for the pregnancy by a
change of emotional attitude: the woman's interest shifts from
extraverted activities to her body and its welfare. Expressed in
psychodynamic terms: the libido is withdrawn from external,
heterosexual objects, becomes concentrated upon the self. This is
the phase of the cycle during which the woman's desire for preg-
nancy, or her defense against it, dominates
the psychoanalytic
material. At the same time, or some days later in the cycle, the
Psychosomatic Implications of Mother-Child Relationships 187
2
analytic material may show preoccupation with care of the child.
However, as if mother and child were identical or interchange-
able, the tendencies toward child care may be expressed at one
time actively, as a wish to nurse, to feed, to take care of the baby;
and at other times the same woman may express the same tend-
encies passively, as a desire to be fed, to be taken care of.
Helene Deutsch [6] found that a deep-rooted passivity and a
specific tendency toward introversion are characteristic qualities
of the female psyche. Our study of the sexual cycle reveals that
these propensities of female psychology are repeated in cyclic
intervals, in correspondence with the specifically female gonad
hormone, progestin, during the postovulative phase of the ovarian
cycle. On the basis of such observations, we assume that the emo-
tional manifestations of the specific passive-receptive and narcis-
sistic-retentive tendencies represent the psychodynamic correlates
of the biological need for motherhood.
The psychology of pregnancy is easily understood in the light
of the psychodynamic processes which accompany the progestin
phase of the cycle. Just as the monthly repetition of the physio-
logical processes represents a somatic preparation for pregnancy,
so the corresponding monthly repetition of the emotional atti-
tudes represents a preparation for that introversion of psychic
energies which motivates the emotional attitudes of the pregnant
woman.
The interaction between mother and child the symbiosis
begins after conception. The enhanced hormonal and general
metabolic processes which are necessary to maintain normal
pregnancy produce an increase of vital energies. The pregnant
woman inher placid vegetative calmness enjoys her pregnant
body, which is like a reservoir replenished with libidinous feel-

ings. While such feelings enhance the mother's well-being, they

also become the source of her motherliness: they increase her

pleasure in bearing the child and her patience in regard to some

of the discomforts of her pregnancy. Primary narcissism the

2
We could not determine whether this occurs in correlation with progestin
alone or in correlation with prolacrin production in these women who are
neither pregnant nor lactating.
188 Therese Benedek

result of surplus energy [7] produced by active metabolic balance

the reservoir which supplies with libido the various emotional
is

tasks of living. As the hormonal processes of pregnancy replenish

the primary narcissism of the woman, this becomes the source of
her motherliness. The general behavior and the emotional state
during pregnancy may appear "regressive" if we compare
them
with the usual level of ego integration of the same woman; yet
ihe condition which appears regressive on the ego level represents
a growth of the integrative span of the personality on the biologi-
cal level. While the mother feels her growing capacity to love and
to take care of the child, she actually experiences a general im-
provement in her emotional balance. We have observed that many
neurotic women, who suffered severe anxiety states before, have
become free from anxiety during pregnancy. Others become
free from depression and from desperate mood changes. Many
women, despite the discomforts of nausea or morning sickness,
feel emotionally stable and have the "best time" during preg-

nancy. This does not mean we are forgetting that some

women
become severely panic-stricken and/or depressed during preg-
nancy. (Usually, this happens in the latter part of pregnancy or
after delivery.) If the woman's developmental disturbance is
such that her ego is unable to master the productive task of
childbearing, a dissociation of the functions (physiological and
mental) may occur during the pregnancy. In this paper, how-
ever, we are discussing the emotional course of the normal preg-
nancy, which enriches the somatic and psychic energies of the
woman to a degree that she becomes able to master emotional
conflicts which were disturbing to her at other times. The force
which maintains pregnancy is responsible for the characteristic
attitude of withdrawal which sometimes becomes intensified to
such a degree that nothing else, no other reality, counts for the
3
pregnant woman, and she lives as in a daze.
Another aspect of the psychology of pregnancy is expressed
by an increase in the receptive tendencies. This is a manifesta-

8
This is the reason that some women, even if they have to hide the
pregnancy for example, unmarried mothers do not realize the actual diffi-
culties they have to face, hut forget about them until the delivery creates a
different emotional situation.
Psychosomatic Implications of Mother-Child Relationships 189

tion of the biological process of growth which it serves. The

voraciousness and the bizarre appetite of the pregnant woman are
well known. "She eats for two" expresses permission, especially
when gratification of such needs is not limited by medical control.
The pregnant woman thrives on the sympathy and solicitude of
her environment. If, however, her passive receptive needs are
unfulfilled, if her husband or her family are not adequately at-
tentive, the sense of frustration may set in action a regressive
process which may increase her receptive needs to an exaggerated
degree. The resulting anger may destroy the primary narcissistic
state of pregnancy, and thus it may interfere with the develop-
ment of motherliness.
The difference between primary and secondary narcissism in
the development of motherliness can easily be seen when we con-
trast the vital libidinal energy (produced by the metabolic proc-
esses maintaining the pregnancy) and the secondary ego grati-
fications which the pregnant woman may expect in connection
with her pregnancy and her child. The need for ego gratification
may change the fantasies of the mother from the unqualified
desire for a child to definite wishes and ambitions which she
hopes and intends to fulfill through the child. Thus the child be-
comes a means for gratification of individually determined goals,
even before it is born. A mother may worry during the pregnancy
lest her child will not be all that is desired, i.e., a son for one
reason or a daughter for another. Many other conflicts, arising
from the secondary narcissistic goals of the personality, may dis-
turb the development of genuine motherliness. 4
The important role that hormonal stimulation plays in develop-
ment and performance of motherliness has been well studied in
animals. In the human one is inclined to overlook the role of
hormonal stimulation, since motherliness, an idealized attitude of

*
There are other factors in the psychology of pregnancy which may interfere
with the development of motherliness, such as the fear of death at child-
birth, exaggerated fear of labor pains, etc. These are, however, symptoms
motivated by developmental conflicts of the woman and are, therefore,
secondary. Here the discussion is limited to those aspects of the psychology
of motherhood which are related directly to the hormonal processes. How-
ever, the hormonal processes may be influenced by environmental factors
which motivate the psychosexual development in roto, such as the girl's
identification with the mother [5].
190 Therese Benedek

fulfillment of ethical aspects

highest value, is considered as the
of the personality rather than of "animalistic" biological func-
tions. Yet motherliness is a function of a specific biological
and psychic maturation; its completion, as many observations
the birth of the first
prove, is only rarely reached at and about
child.
While the trauma of the interruption of the fetal sym-
birth
biosis been studied often from the point of
in recent years has
view of the infant, its significance for the mother has been rela-
tively neglected. I do
not refer here to the massive obstetrical
traumata and the resulting pathology. I rather want to point out

that when the newborn leaves the womb and has to become active
in securing the basicneeds for living, the mother's organism has
this may be con-
to become reorganized also. In some sense,

sidered as a trauma for the mother. The hormonal and metabolic

the labor pains, and the excite-
changes which induce parturition,
ment of delivery, even without intensive use of narcotics, in-
terrupt the continuity of the
mother-child unity. After delivery,
when the organism as a whole is preparing for the next func-

tion of motherhood lactation mothers, especially primiparas,

may experience an "emotional lag." For the nine months of the
they were preparing to love the baby. After delivery,
pregnancy,
5
a lack of feeling for the child. Usually
they may be surprised by
love for the newborn wells up in the mother as she first hears the

cry of her baby. The sensation of love reassures the mother about
the continuity of her oneness with the child and she may relax
and wait serenely to receive her child on her breast. It is different
if the mother, instead of love, feels a sense
of loss and emptiness;
if she has the feeling of a distance between
herself and the infant;

views the baby as an outsider, an object; and she asks herself

with estrangement, "Is this what I had in me?" Mothers having
such a disquieting experience usually muster all their self-control
to suppress this feeling and try to summon their previous fanta-
sies to establish an emotional relationship with the infant. Such
mothers, disappointed in themselves by the lack of love, feel
6
This occurs more often if delivery was performed under complete anes-
thesia, so that the mother has no memory of the experience.
Psychosomatic Implications of Mother-Child Relationships 191

guilty, become anxious; and with this the insecurity toward the
child begins. 6
The further development of the mother-child relationship de-
pends on the total personality of the mother; she may develop a
depression and withdraw from the child; she may turn against
the child who exposed her failure in loving and reject it com-
pletely; or she may overcompensate the fear of not being able
to loveand may become overindulgent and protective. This early
post-partum emotional lag is a critical period during which the
husband's relationship to his wife, his readiness for gratifying his
wife's dependent needs, is of great importance. The post-partum
woman, for many
reasons, including physiological motivations,
has a regressive tendency, and therefore has a great desire to be
mothered. Through the love which she passively receives, she
may be able to overcome the depression and give love to her
child.
Whether the mother, through the feeling of love, is able to
maintain the sense of unity with her child, or whether she has to
miss this most significant gratification, the organism of the mother
is not ready to give up the symbiosis after parturition. The need

for its continuation exists in the mother, whose hormonal house-

hold preparing to continue the symbiosis by lactation.
is

The psychosomatic correlations during normal lactation have

not been studied closely because lactation is a contented period in
the life. The hormonal function
woman's related to prolactin

production which stimulates milk secretion, usually suppresses

the gonad function and induces an emotional attitude which is
similar to that of the progestin phase of the cycle. As is now
known, during the monthly preparation for pregnancy, the inten-
tion toward motherliness is expressed by active and passive recep-
tive tendencies. During lactation, both the active and passive re-
become the axis around
ceptive tendencies gain in intensity; they
6
Whether the post-partum metabolic processes have such a generally de-
is unable to feel love, and consequently
pressing effect on the mother that she
becomes afraid of the tasks of motherhood, or whether the lack of motherly
emotions is the result of the immaturity of those psychic and somatic processes
which result in motherliness, deserves further study and probably needs to be
established in each case.
192 Therese Benedek

which the activities of motherliness center. The woman's desire

to nurse the baby, to be close to it bodily, represents the continu-
ation of the original symbiosis, not only for the infant, but for
the mother as well. While the infant incorporates the breast, the
mother feels united with the baby. The identification with the
baby permits the mother to "regress," to repeat and satisfy her
own passive, dependent, receptive needs. The emotional experi-
ences of lactation, while they permit a process of identification
between mother and child, afford a slow, step-by-step integration
of normal motherliness.
present methods of child care done with
What have our the
woman's and readiness to nurse the baby? It would lead
ability
us away from the primarily psychosomatic frame of this presen-
tation if I went into a discussion of the sociological and anthropo-

logical factors which, in our culture, interfere

with the continua-
tion of the symbiosis between mother and infant during lacta-
tion. The result of the suppression of the natural process of
motherliness is, however, very serious. Possibly
the baby's "for-
mula" can improve on nature as far as chemistry is concerned;

possibly can
it regulate the metabolic needs of the infant better
than breast feeding does; but it cannot develop motherliness
through the bottle, even if the mother is permitted to hold her
baby in her arms while she feeds him, as present-day nursing
care encourages.
One example of incipient disturbance of motherliness I ob-
served recently: thisyoung woman was very anxious to have a
second baby and was very happy when she became pregnant. Her
moodiiiess, which often led to suicidal ideas, disappeared and she
feltserene during the pregnancy. While the delivery of the first
baby in a military hospital during the war had been a frightening
experience, this fear was now overcome since everything could
be arranged according to her wishes. She had a normal delivery
with anesthesia only at the end. To the great surprise of the nurses,
she wanted her baby rooming-in with her. She felt happy and
contented, watching her infant and nursing him, concentrating
on him completely. Then she developed a slight infection and
the baby was taken away from her. When she went home, a nurse
took over the care of the baby. As the nurse watched her feed-
Psychosomatic Implications of Mother-Child Relationships 193

ing the baby, she felt her milk being dissipated. The nurse was
eager to give the baby the bottle. The mother became uncomfort-
able and depressed. Although she felt that she was losing what
she wanted so much, her friends began to tell her that it was time
for her to go out, to enjoy her freedom while she had the nurse.
She became moody. "I spend time fantasying about being sick
and in the hospital again," she confessed. She complained that
she was superfluous to the baby, yet she did not dare to send the
nurse away and take full responsibility, for she was not certain
that she could enjoy at home the same concentration upon the
infant as she had felt in the hospital. "That would be unfair to
the older child," she protested, and it would also seem silly to

some of her friends. Thus, five weeks after delivery in old times,
she would still be "in confinement" she was in the psychiatrist's
office complaining about two things: (a) that she loved the baby
in the hospital, but now did not know how to love him; and (b)
that the baby, who was
so quiet and gained weight so well, had
become was crying a great deal, and had even vomited
fussy,
once or twice, and this frightened her.
No single example can completely illustrate the point which I
want to make: namely, that not only the infant has the need for
the mother's readiness to nurse, to take care of him; not the baby
alone thrives on the closeness of the mother, by her warmth and
tenderness; but the mother also has an instinctual need to fulfill
the physiological and emotional preparedness for her motherli-
ness. If this process of the mother's
development is suppressed,
hormonal function may disturb that
the enforced changes in the
psychosomatic balance which is the source of motherliness. The
vulnerability of the integration of motherliness can be explained
7
by a summary of the psychosomatic processes of the puerperium
and lactation.
1. When one compares the psychosexual integration of the
personality during the puerperium with that of the "highest"
integration of the personality, the lactating or puerperal mother
appears regressed to an oral level.
2. While this psychosexual state accounts for the (uncon-

7
Puerperium is the period from termination of labor to the completion of
the involution of the uterus usually six weeks.
194 Therese Benedek

scious) communication identification between mother and in-

fant it also accounts for the depressive reactions
of the mother. 8
Thus the mother becomes oversensitive in regard to her capacity
for fulfilling the function of motherhood.
mother's sense
Every indication of her failure increases the
of inferiority and creates anxious tension and depression. Just
as the suppression of lactation interferes with the development
of motherliness, so failure of motherliness, originating in other
sources of the personality, may interfere with lactation. In old
disturbance of the
times, one used to say that the emotional
mother "goes on the milk," and it was assumed that the emotional

disturbance influenced not only the quantity, but also the quality

of the milk, so that the baby received milk which was "difficult
to digest" and caused and other suffering. For many years,
colic

one shrugged scientific shoulders over such "superstition." Today,

we accept it as fact, although we admit that we do not know the
which the emotional tensions of the mother are
pathways by
transmitted to the infant.
In an earlier paper, I examined the interaction between mother
and infant in regard to the development of the adaptive capacity
of the ego [8]. It is pertinent to summarize here the main conclu-
sions of that study.
According to our hypothesis, the symbiosis between mother
and child continues on a different scale during the neonatal
period. The sleeping infant is in a condition closely resembling
that of intrauterine life. The arising physiological needs disturb
the sleep, and then the course of gratification is as follows: crying
gratification sleep. This process evolves; as far as the newborn
is concerned, -within the self, without realization of the external
environment. The mother's genuine motherliness, her desire and
ability tosupply the infant with the sensations of "protectedness,"
reduce the frequency of disturbing stimuli and diminish the in-
tensity and length of the crying fits. Through
the rhythmic repeti-
tion of the gratification of his physiological needs, the infant de-
velops to the perception that the source of the need (hunger, pain,
8
That the intensification of the oral receptive tendencies represents the
psychodynamic conditions for the development or depression is a well-estab-
lished concept of psychoanalysis.
Psychosomatic Implications of Mother-Child Relationships 195

discomfort) is within, and the source of gratification is outside

the self.
By the same routinely returning process of gratifications, the
infant acquires a sense of confidence that the mother will gratify
his needs. It is difficult to describe the phenomenology of this

early emotional state, although mothers will recognize its mani-

festations in the baby's way of turning his head, following
with his eyes, ceasing to cry for a short while when the mother
is near, etc. This indicates that confidence plays an important
role in the economy of the psychic apparatus during infancy: it
preserves the mother-child unity; it helps to decrease the intensity
of the outer stimuli and thus averts anxiety. Lack of confidence
stimulates tension which may grow into discomfort and anxiety.
This emotional shelter confidence and the positive, dependent
relationship to the mother which is its consequence, facilitates
learning in the normal infant. The ego, strengthened by the libidi-
nal relationship to the mother on the one hand and by the
absence of anxiety on the other, develops an adequate capacity
to perceive the objects of the outer world;such an ego is able to
accept new and unexpected situations (always in a degree which
corresponds to the developmental level of the child) and masters
them by trust in the mother. 9
Quite different from this ego structure is the ego of those
infants whose development was not guided by the confident
relationship to the mother. Hospitalism [10] is a severe state of
inhibition which develops in infants raised in institutions, where
routine substitutes for love. Without the loving stimulation of one
individual, children with such dependent needs do not turn to
any person with confidence. Such children do not watch the
person, but rather the bottle, or some other phase of the routine.
It was observed that such children refused the bottle when it was

&
The
concept of confidence can be compared with the concept of nope [9].
French shows how "hope" facilitates the mental processes necessary for
achieving a goal. We
believe that hope develops as a mental habit on the
basis of confidence. Through confidence in the forthcoming passive gratifica-
tions and in tne forthcoming help and support in attempts at active mastery,
the ego develops to a stage in which it is able to project the expectations for
gratification in the future. Hope, like confidence, diminishes the sense of
frustration and already in early childhood enables the individual to wait for
gratification without a sudden increase in the psychic tension.
196 Therese Benedek

offeredfrom the side of the bed other than they were used to.
Such children adapt to the routine gratification of their needs
with conditioned reflexes.
Conditioned reflexes represent a significant part of primary
is an important differ-
learning in normal children also. Yet there
ence between the learning of the healthy infant and that of the
infant developing various degrees of hospitalism. Conditioning is
an adaptive mechanism, which serves as protection against anxi-
ety. Anxiety has several sources. One
of them is the body itself,
which generates pain by the sensation of unsatisfied physiologic
needs; the other source of anxiety is the danger in which the weak
ego finds itself when alone and isolated. Infants raised by love-
less routine are exposed to anxiety-producing situations more
often than those whose needs are met with loving care. The ego,
beset by anxiety too often, and for too long a time, remains fix-
ated to the level of primitive conditioning. Such reflex adaptation
saves the child from further increase of tension, and the child
remains calm as long as every step of the routine is followed with-
out a change. Every new situation, even a slight change in the
routine, will, however, be experienced as a danger; the child
responds with anxiety, i.e., with crying. If the environmental
situation cannot be improved, the inhibition increases; the child,
in order to avoid anxiety, finally refuses to respond and does not

accept any new situation. If only the bare physiologic needs of a

child are supplied, he may grow up to become a deeply inhibited

/person. For such an individual, every new situation will reactivate

a part of that anxiety which he experienced as an infant. The
individual who did not learn to love during the first year of life
will be threatened whenever he shall develop a new object rela-

tionship.
I have presented two extremes. In the one environment, the

processes of growth appear to be ideally regulated by the in-

fant's own needs, the mother responding to them in a way which
all but repeats the symbiosis, permitting the infant to develop to

independence at his own pace. In the other environment, the

symbiosis was interrupted, the nursing care did not supply enough
gratification to enable the infant to develop emotional interper-
sonalized and intrapsychic defenses against anxiety. These ex-
Psychosomatic Implications of Mother-Child Relationships 197

tremes illustrate that the ego's capacity to learn to master the

object world goes hand in hand with the development of object-
libidinal relationship. The ego structure developing through the
buffer of confidence has a greater span and flexibility in adapta-
tion to reality. In contrast, if the psychic economy is not relieved

by a sense of security in the relationship with the mother, but has

to concentrate upon mastering and avoiding anxiety, it will pro-
duce an ego structure fixated to rigidly conditioned adaptation.
Such ego structure may break down at any time when a new
adaptive task emerges.
The interaction between mother and infant, however, can be
studied in even more detail in the large majority of instances

ranging between these extremes.

The activity pattern of the newborn depends upon the irrita-
bility of his nervous system, on the one hand, and upon the degree
of protection against the disturbing stimuli on the other. In the
light ofour discussion, we may say that the infant born with a
nervous system of greater sensitivity would need a longer, better-
10
functioning substitute for the intrauterine symbiosis. However,
experience shows that the mothers of the "nervous" babies are
usually less able to provide their infants with an environment of
fewer stimulations. The mature, normal newborn calms down
under the influence of normal nursing care to this rhythm: need
crying gratification sleep. It takes usually four weeks, i.e.,
the neonatal period, to advance in physiological adjustment to a
degree which assures smoother vegetative functioning.
observed that a large proportion of babies, instead of be-
It is

coming "happier" at about the age of four weeks, show a new

type of crying. Gesell and Ilg [11] state: "The baby shows a
tendency to cry prior to sleep." This "wakefulness crying" tends
to occur in the afternoon and the evening. It loses its prominence
at about ten or twelve weeks.
What is the cause of this irritability? In the light of our assump-
10
First-born infants, on account of lesser maturation, or on account ot
greater birth trauma, represent a more difficult task to a mother who has also
less maturity in handling the child. Thus, the first-born infant's activity
pattern is more fitful; it takes longer for him to quiet down than for sub-

sequent children of the same parent. This statement must be checked, how-
ever, in regard to the many factors which may influence mother and child
 198 Therese Benedek

tion that the mother as well as the baby has a need for continua-
tion of the symbiosis, we may speculate on the significance of the
baby's increased demand on the mother at a time when she begins
to tuna away from the baby and becomes more active in the other
areas of her existence. Do infants then demand more intensely
the re-establishment of the symbiosis? Or do they respond to the
increased tenseness of the mother? Be that as it may, the infant
has no means other than his crying fit for discharging tension.
It is fortunate that the infant has no memory of the amount of

discomfort and pain which his crying fit would indicate. The un-
readiness of his nervous system, the lack of internal barriers
(Reiz-Schutz) accounts for the spreading of the tension which
,

may and may invade

increase to a veritable "storm of excitation"
the viscera [12]. depend on the degree of maturity of the
It will

vegetative nervous system and the gastrointestinal tract whether

such excitation becomes bound to definite parts of the gastroin-
testinal system and its functioning. Thus, symptoms like pyloric

spasm, as well as colic, can be explained as steps in the mastery

of the general excitation of the nervous system. Generally, the
intensity and frequency of such disturbances during the first
three months measure the pace of interaction between mother and
child.
Melanie Klein [13] assumes that infants, struggling with a
breast which does not feed or which overflows, infants suffering
from pain of hunger, colic, or other bodily discomfort, acquire
the concepts of "good" and "bad'* within themselves. Even if we
do not follow Klein's complex psychologic elaborations, we may
accept, on the basis of observation, that anxiety and pain (any
sort of discomfort may cause anxiety in the infant) increase the
urge to re-establish security by being close to the mother. The
crying, grasping infant bites the nipple with force and suckles
with greed; the sick infant, too, gasping with opening and closing
of the mouth, wants to incorporate the mother, to re-establish
the symbiosis which once supplied all needs without pain. If
such intensification of the incorporative needs leads to gratifica-
tion,the interaction between mother and child improves. If,
however, the mother does not succeed in pacifying the infant,
his physiological tension increases and the need for incorporation
Psychosomatic Implications of Mother-Child Relationships 199

becomes more and more charged with motor energy. We speak

of "hostile incorporation" although the psychic
representation
of hostility can hardly exist so early. But its model is formed. The
hostile incorporation augments the internal tension of the
infant;
at the same time, it alienates the
helpless mother who feels re-
jected by her child. Thus while a vicious circle develops between
mother and infant, another vicious circle within the infant be-
comes intensified. The infant, after his attempts at incorporation
which have failed to satisfy his needs, is helpless and exhausted.
Rado and Fenichel [14] pointed out that the first regulator of
self-esteem (Selbstgefuhl)
is the satisfaction
acquired by all the
processes connected with feeding; they assume that the early
disappointments, anxiety, helplessness, which some infants ex-
perience in connection with feeding and digestion, may cause a
sense of helplessness, of inferiority, of worthlessness; as if "bad-
ness" were existing within the self.
It is beyond the scope of this paper to elaborate how the

primary self-esteem becomes the basis of ego development. Se-

cure and stable, it is the core of a strong adaptable ego; help-
lessand insecure, it gives rise to a rigid ego structure which,
under the strain of adaptive tasks arising later in life, may re-
gress to the basic insecurity of early childhood. The regressive
processes may then bring to the fore psychosomatic conditions
which were determined by the developmental processes of in-

fancy.

Summary
The psychosomatic (hormonal) aspects of motherliness were
discussed to demonstrate the mother's biological need for con-
tinuation of symbiosis in the puerperiurn and during the child's
infancy. This instinctual tendency toward motherliness corre-
sponds to the helplessness of the newborn; it is gratified by
sundry intimate functions of motherhood which supply both
mother and infant with the gratification of their dependent
needs. Motherliness, developing through sublimation of instinc-
tual impulses, enlarges the span of the mother's personality; it

encompasses her child.

200 Therese Benedek

The physiologic and mental apparatus of the infant represents

a system which communicates broadly and fluently with the
system of the mother with aU aspects of the mother's person-
ality: with her id, her ego, and her superego. Through the proc-
esses of identification with the mother, the infant develops from
the undifferentiated state of the newborn to an individual with
structuralized mental apparatus which is in control of psychic
and somatic processes. 11

Discussion

JULES V. COLEMAN, M.D. 12 Dr. Benedek presents an interest-

ing and again a classical discussion of a problem of intense
practical importance. Motherliness as the central core of the
experience of personality development in the infant is shown to
be related to the mother's identification with her own mother,
to the hormonal-personality interaction, and to a specific psycho-
dynamic system.
I was particularly interested in the discussion of the frequent
reaction of early post-partum emotional lag, which I suppose may
be related psychologically to a kind of separation anxiety, to
from a high level of
a lack of tolerance for the sudden shift

enjoyment of the intrauterine child to a

narcissistic possessive
sense of detachment and even of loss. The more narcissistic
woman for whom the incorporative possession of the child has
special value may have difficulty in believing in the reality of
the child outside herself, and may develop panic feelings arising
out of the ambivalent conflict precipitated by the separation.
Here, then, at any rate, in this early post-partum period, is
one of the important crossroad experiences of motherhood, since
it is here that the biological and
psychological readiness patterns
11
would be a mistake to conclude that breast feeding holds the answer
It
to problems and that by itself it assures a conflictless evolution of the
all
child-mother relationship. Long-term observations are necessary to evaluate the
significance of breast feeding and the variations in its techniques for specific
developmental conflicts.
^'University of Colorado Medical Center, Denver.
Psychosomatic Implications of Mother-Child Relationships 201

may be throwo out of gear or entirely displaced, leaving indiffer-

ence or hatred behind. Regardless of special psychological diffi-
culties in the particular mother, there is always present this

psychosomatic push for the preservation, continuation, and de-

velopment of the symbiotic relationship, which, if not interfered
with, does make the mother the final authority in child rearing,
at least the rearing of her own child.
One of our pediatricians in Denver insists that his mothers of
premature babies visit the hospital on a regular schedule at least
once a day, more often if possible, so that their breasts may
be pumped to provide breast milk for the infant. Even if the
milk is not used for the child, he feels that for the mother it is
an essential experience of participation.
It seems to me that in the work of pediatricians and other

physicians caring for babies, as well as in the well-baby clinics, a

primary concern should be the preservation of the biologically
based and psychologically necessary symbiosis. It is not a mat-
ter of method of child care but of helping the mother to find
and to develop confidence in her own psychosomatic resources
for this wholeness of shared experience in the symbiotic relation-

ship.

References

[1] HANK, BEATA, MARIAN c. PUTNAM, and GREGORY ROCHLiN. The Signifi-
cance of the "Emotional Climate" in Early Feeding Difficulties. Psycho-
somatic Med., 10:279-283, 1948.

[2] JOSEPH, BETTY. A Technical Problem in the Treatment of the Infant

Patient. Intemat J. Psa., 29:58-59, 1948.

[3] FRIES, MARGARET E. Psychosomatic Relationships Between Mother and

Infant. Psychosomatic Med., 6:159-162, 1944.

[4] SPITZ, RENE A. "Anaclitic Depression: An Inquiry into the Genesis of

Psychiatric Conditions in Early Childhood." In The Psychoanalytic

Study of the Child, Vol. II, pp. 313-342. Internal Univ. Press, New
York, 1947.
202 Therese Benedek

[5] BENEDEK, THERESE, and BORIS B. RUBENSTEIN. The Sexual Cycle JH

Women: The Relation Between Ovarian Function and Psychodynamic
Processes. Psychosomatic Med. Monogs., Vol. Ill, Nos. 1 and 2. National
Research Council, Washington, D. C., 1942.

[6] DEUTSCH, HELENE. The Psychology of Women; A Psychoanalytic In-

terpretation, Vols. I and II. Grune & Stratton, New York, 1944, 1945.

[7] ALEXANDER, FRANZ. Psychoanalysis Revised. Psa. Quart., 9:1, 1940.

[8] BENEDEK, THERESE. Adaptation to Reality in Early Infancy. Ibid., 7:200-

215, 1938.

[9] FRENCH, THOMAS M. The Integration of Social Behavior. Ibid., 14:159-

165, 1945.

[10] SPITZ,RENE A. "Hospitalism An Inquiry into the Genesis of Psychiatric

:

Conditions in Early Childhood." In The Psychoanalytic Study of the

Child, Vol. I, 1945, pp. 113-117.
.
''Hospitalism: A Follow-up Report/' Ibid., Vol. II, 1947, pp.
53-74.

[11] GESELL, ARNOLD, and FRANCES M. iLG. Infant and Child in the Culture
of Today. Harper, New York, 1943.

[12] PEIPER, ALBRECHT. Die Kiampfbeieitschati des Satiglings. Jahrbuch fuer

Kmderheilkunde, 125:194, 1929.

[13] KLEIN, MELANIE. The Psycho-Analysis of Children. Norton, New York,

1932.

[14] RADO, SANDOR. The Psychical ESects of Intoxificarion: Attempt at a

Psychoanalytical Theory of Drug-Addiction. Internat. J. Psa., 9:301-317,
1928.
FENICHEL, OTTO. Fruehe EntwicHungsstadien des Ichs. Imago, 23:243-
269, 1937.
 13

ERNEST G. SCHACHTEL
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia
5*

Greek mythology celebrates Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory,

as the mother of all art. She bore the nine muses to Zeus. 1 Cen-
turies after the origin of this myth Plato banned poetry, the
child of memory, from his ideal state as being idle and seductive.
While lawmakers, generals, and inventors were useful for the
common good, the fact that Homer was nothing but a wanderin
minstrel without a home and without a following proved how
useless he was. 2 In the Odyssey the voices of the Sirens tempt

Ulysses.

For never yet hath any man rowed past

This isle in his black ship, till he hath heard
The honeyed music of our lips, and goes
His way delighted and a wiser man.
For see, we know the whole tale of the travail
That Greeks and Trojans suffered in wide Troy-land
By Heaven's behest; yea, and all things we know
That come to pass upon the fruitful earth.

*
Reprinted by special permission of The William Alanson White Psy-
and Patrick Mullahy, from A Study of Interpersonal
chiatric Foundation, Inc.,
Relations, edited by Patrick Mullahy, and published by Hermitage House,
Inc., New York. Copyright, 1949, by Hermitage Press, Inc. (Originally pub-
lished in Psychiatry, 1947, 10:1-26; and, in abridged form, in Politics, Spring
1948).
ir
The words "muse" and "mnemosyne" derive from the same root: "men"
or "man." Preller, Ludwig, Griechische Mythologie; Berlin 1872; vol. l r

p. 399, footnote 1. In German, too, the words "Gedachtnis" (memory) and

"Dichtung" (poetry) derive from the same root "denken" (think); compare
also "gedenken" (remember).
2
Plato, Republic, 599, 600.
203
204 Ernest G. Schachtel

Their irresistible song, in evoking the past, promises a de-

light which no future and will be the end of Ulysses'
will allow

plans to return to an active life and to resume the rule of Ithaca.

He prevents his shipmates from listening to the alluring voices by
plugging their ears with wax, and he, too curious to renounce
the
so that he will
pleasure, has himself chained to the ship's mast
not be able to yield to their song and abandon the future.
This ambivalent attitude toward memory, especially toward its
most potent form as embodied in the song, the epic, the tale, in
the his-
poetry, music, fiction, and in all art, has accompanied
tory of man. The modern, popular attitude, so widespread in the
United States, the country of the most advanced
industrial and

technological civilization that all art and poetry

is "sissy" is

the latter-day implementation of the Platonic taboo. But with

this difference: the contemporaries of Plato, and before them
the shipmates of Ulysses, were susceptible to the promise of
happiness that the song of the Sirens and of the muses contains,
so that Ulysses and Plato, concerned with planning and not with
the past,had to prevent their listening forcefully. Today the
masses have internalized the ancient fear and prohibition of this
alluring song and, in their contempt for it, express and repress
both their longing for and their fear of the unknown vistas to
which it might open the doors.
The profound fascination of memory of past experience and
the double aspect of this fascination its irresistible lure into

the past with its promise of happiness and pleasure, and its
threat to the kind of activity, planning,and purposeful thought
and behavior encouraged by modern western civilization have
attracted the thought of two men in recent times who have made
the most significant modern contribution to the ancient questions
posed by the Greek myth: Sigmund Freud and Marcel Proust.
Both are aware of the antagonism inherent in memory, the
conflict between reviving the past and actively participating in
the present life of society. Both illuminate the nature of this
conflict from different angles. Proust, the poet of memory, is

ready to renounce all that people usually consider as active life,

to renounce activity, enjoyment of the present moment, concern
with the future, friendship, social intercourse, for the sublime
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 205

happiness and profound truth recaptured in the most elusive o

all treasures that man has hunted for, the "Remembrance of

Things Past." He
pursues this conflict between activity and
memory into most
its subtle manifestations. He knows that, as
the awakening dreamer may lose the memory of his dream when
he moves his limbs, opens his eyes, changes the position of his
body, so the slightest motion may endanger and dispel the deep
pleasure of the vision of the time in Combray, recaptured by
the flavor of the madeleine, or the image of Venice conjured up
by the sensation and the posture which the unevenness of the
pavement in the court of the Guermantes town house brought
to him as the unevenness of the pavement of San Marco had

years ago. He does not dare to stir, for fear that the exhilarating
vision may disappear. Bodily movement is the basic and simplest
form of all activity endangering memory. Action itself, the atti-

tude of activity, even the activity of enjoying the immediate

present are seen by Proust as the antagonists, the incompatible
alternative of memory. From here it is only one step to the
insight that the memory which reveals the true vision of some-
thing past, the memory celebrated by Proust, is very different
from the voluntary, everyday memory, the useful instrument
needed by man every hour and every minute to recall a word,
a figure, a date, to recognize a person or an object, to think of
his plans, tasks, intentions, the eminently utilitarian memory
characterized by the very fact that it serves the purposes of
active and conventionally organized life in society. Proust speaks
of the artificiality and untruth of the pictures that this memory
furnishes, of its flat and uniform quality which cannot do justice
to the unique flavor and the true qualities of anything remem-
bered.
While for Proust the antagonism between society and memory of
the significant past can be resolved only by renouncing either one
or the other, Goethe seeks to reconcile the two. When, at a party,
a toast was proposed to memory he objected vehemently with
these words: "I do not recognize memory in the sense in which
you mean it. Whatever we encounter that is great, beautiful,
significant, need not be remembered from outside,
need not be
hunted up and laid hold of as it were. Rather, from the beginning,
206 Ernest G. Schachtel

it must be woven into the fabric of our inmost self, must become
one with it, create a new and better self in us and thus live and
become a productive force in ourselves. There is no past that one
is allowed to long for. There is only the eternally new, growing

from the enlarged elements of the past; and genuine longing

always must be productive, must create something
new and
better." 3
of mem-
Freud, not unlike Proust, approaches the problem
not from wondering what, or how well, or how much man
ory
remembers, but how hard it is to remember, how
much is for-
be recovered at all or only with the greatest
gotten and not to
and how the period richest in experience, the period
difficulty,
of early childhood, is the one which usually is forgotten entirely
save for a few apparently meaningless memory fragments. He
finds thissurprising since "we are informed that during those
but a few incomprehensible mem-
years which have left nothing
reacted to impressions, that we
ory fragments, we have vividly
have manifested human pain and pleasure and that we have
love, and other passions as they then affected
expressed jealousy
us." 4 The few incomprehensible memory fragments left over
from childhood, he considers as "concealing memories" (Deck-
erinnerungen),
5 and his painstaking work to decipher their
resemblance to Proust's
language bears more than a superficial
the characters of the images of
attempt to decipher hieroglyphic
a cloud, a triangle, a belfry, a flower, a pebble a most difficult

undertaking, but the only way to the true memories

enclosed in
these signs which seemed to be only indifferent material objects
or sensations. It was Freud who made the discovery that a
conflict, leading to repression, is responsible for the difficulty
of remembering the past. His well-known explanation of infantile
amnesia is that the forgetting of childhood experiences is due to
progressive repression
of infantile sexuality, which reaches the

s Author's translation from Goethe's Gesprjiche; Herausgegeben von Flodoard

Freiherr von Biedermann; Vol. 3, Leipzig 1910, p. 37 (November 4th, 1823).

Compare with this Proust's "Les vrais paradis sont ks paiadis qu'on a perdus."
*Sigmund Freud, Three Contributions to the Theory or Sex. In The Basic
Writings of SigmundFreud"; Random House, New York 1938; p. 581.
6
$igmund Freud, Psychopathology of Everyday Lite; Basic Writings, pp.
62-65.
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 207

peak of its manifestations in the third and fourth years of life.

This repression is brought about by the "psychic forces of loath-
6 These forces
ing, shame, and moral and esthetic ideal demands."
have the sanction of society, they are the product of society, they
are part and serve the purposes of the same conventionally or-
ganized life of society which moulds the functions of all social
activity and of that "uniform" memory in which Proust saw
the irreconcilable antagonists of the true remembrance of things
past.
It is the purpose of this essay to explore further the dynamics
of this conflict in memory which leads to the striking phenome-
non of childhood amnesia as well as to the difficulty, encountered
by Proust though more hidden to the average eye, of recovering
any true picture of past experience. To speak of a conflict in
memory is a convenient abbreviation. Formulated more explicitly
and accurately, the intention of this presentation is to shed light
on some of the factors and conflicts in man and his society which
make it difficult if not impossible for him really to remember
his past and especially his early childhood.

No greater change in the needs of man occurs than that which

takes place between early childhood and adulthood. Into this
change have gone all the decisive formative influences of the
culture transmitted by the parents, laying the fundament of the
transformation into the grown-up, "useful" member of society
from the little heathen, who is helpless but as yet sees nothing
wrong with following the pleasure principle completely and im-
mediately and who has an insatiable curiosity
and capacity for

of these forces during

Ibid, p. 583. Freud asserts that the development
the latency period is organically determined and that it "can occasionally
be
It is surprising that the man who
produced without the help ot education."
over and over again the con-
discovered, explored, described, and emphasized
flier between culture, society, and sexual instinct
should have ascribed the onto-
to organic factors as though he wanted to
genetic origin of sexual inhibitions
a culture, hostile to pleasure and to
explain as natural those inhibitions which
sex, has created, deepened,
and strengthened in every imaginable way. The
only explanation for such a strange
and questionable hypothesis lies, to my
conflict between a powerful
mind, in Freud's and every great discoverer's tragic
and lucid mind searching for truth and the person who never can entirely
ex-

tricate himself from the thousand threads with which

he is captured and tied
to the prejudices, ideologies, falsehoods, and conventions
of his time and society.
208 Ernest G. Schachtel

experience. An explanation of cMldhood amnesia that takes into

account these changes leads to the following tentative hypothesis:
The categories (or schemata) of adult memory are not suitable
receptacles for early childhood experiences and therefore not fit
to preserve these experiences and enable their recall. The func-
tional capacity of the conscious, adult memory is usually limited
to those types of experience which the adult consciously makes
and capable of making.
is

not merely the repression of a specific content, such as

It is

early sexual experiences, that accounts for the general childhood

amnesia; the biologically, culturally, and socially influenced
process of memory organization results in the formation of
categories (schemata) of memory which are not suitable vehicles
to receive and reproduce experiences of the quality and intensity

typical of early childhood. The world of modern western civili-

zation has no use for this type of experience. In fact, it cannot

permit itself to have any use for it; it cannot permit the memory
of it, because such memory, if universal, would explode the
restrictive social order of this civilization. No doubt the hostility
of western civilization to pleasure, and to sexual pleasure as
the strongest of all, is a most important factor operative in
the transformation and education of the child into an adult who
will be able to fulfill the role and the functions he has to take
over in society and will be satisfied by them. Freud has not only
called attention to the phenomenon of childhood amnesia but
has also singled out a decisive factor in its genesis. I believe,
however, that two points are important for a more adequate
understanding of the phenomenon. First, it is not sufficiently
clear why a repression of sexual experience should lead to a
repression of all experience in early childhood. For this reason
the assumption seems more likely that there must be something
in the general quality of childhood experience which leads to
the forgetting of that experience. Second, the phenomenon of
childhood amnesia leads to a problem regarding the nature of
repression, especially repression of childhood material. The term
and concept of repression suggest that material which per se
could be recalled is excluded from recall because of its traumatic
nature. If the traumatic factor can be clarified and dissolved,
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 209

the material is again accessible to recall. But even the most pro-
found and prolonged psychoanalysis does not lead to a recovery
of childhood memory; at best it unearths some incidents and
feelings that had been forgotten. Childhood amnesia, then, may
be due to a formation of the memory functions which makes
them unsuitable to accommodate childhood experience, rather
than exclusively to a censor repressing objectionable material
which, without such repression, could and would be remembered.
The adult is usually not capable of experiencing what the child
experiences; more often than not he is not even capable of im-
agining what the child experiences. It would not be surprising,
then, thathe should be incapable of recalling his own childhood
experiences since his whole mode of experiencing has changed.
The person who remembers is the present person, a person who
has changed considerably, whose interests, needs, fears, capacity
for experience and emotion have changed. The two mechanisms
of forgetting suggested here shade gradually and imperceptibly
into one another. They are neither alternatives nor opposites,
but rather the two ends of a continuous scale.
Both Freud and Proust speak of the autobiographical memory,
and it is only with regard to this memory that the striking phe-
nomenon of childhood amnesia and the less obvious difficulty of
recovering any past experience may be observed. There is no
specific childhood amnesia as far as the remembrance of words
learned or objects and persons recognized is concerned. This
type of material is remembered because, in contrast to the
autobiographical past, it is constantly re-experienced and used
and because it is essential for the orientation and adaptation
of the growing child to his environment.
The autobiographical memory shows indeed in most persons,
if not in all, the amnesia for then: early childhood from birth

to approximately the fifth or sixth years. Of course, there are

gaps in the memory of many people for later periods of their

lives also, probably more so for the period before than after

puberty; but these gaps vary individually to a much greater

extent than does the ubiquitous early childhood amnesia. It
one believes Proust, life after childhood is not remembered either,
save for the elusive flashes of a vision given only to the most
 210 Ernest G. Schachtel

sensitive and differentiated mind as the rare grace of a fortunate

moment, which then the poet, with passionate devotion and
patient labor, may try to transcribe and communicate,

Freud contrasts the presumable riches of childhood experience,

the child's great capacity for impressions and experience, with
the poverty or total lack of memory of such rich experience. If
o$e looks closely at the average adult's memory of the periods
of his life after childhood, such memory, it is true, usually shows
no great temporal gaps. It is fairly continuous. But
formal its

continuity in time is offset by barrenness in content, by an

incapacity to reproduce anything that resembles a really rich,
full, rounded, and alive experience. Even the most "exciting"
events are remembered as milestones rather than as moments
filled with the concrete abundance of
life. Adult memory reflects

life road with occasional signposts and milestones rather

as a
than as the landscape through which this road has led. The mile-
stones are the measurements of time, the months and years, the
empty count of time gone by, so many years spent here, so many
years spent there, moving from one place to another, so many
birthdays, and so forth. The signposts represent the outstand-
ing events to which they point entering college, the first job,
marriage, birth of children, buying a house, a family celebration,
a trip. But it is not the events that are remembered as they
really happened and were experienced at the time. What is re-
membered is usually,more or less, only the fact that such an
event took place. The signpost is remembered, not the place,
the thing, the situation towhich it points. And even these sign-
posts themselves do not usually indicate the really significant
moments in a person's life; rather they point to the events that
are conventionally supposed to be significant, to the clich6s which
society has come to consider as the main stations of life. Thus
the memories of the majority of people come to resemble in-
creasingly the stereotyped answers to a questionnaire, in which
life consistsof time and place of birth, religious denomination,
residence, educational degrees, job, marriage, number and birth-
dates of children, income, sickness and death. The average
traveler, asked about his trip, will tell you how many miles he
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 211

has made (how many years he has lived); how fast he went
(how successful he was); what places he has visited usually
only the well known ones, often he visits only those that one
"simply must have seen" (the jobs he has held, the prestige he
has gained). He can tell you whether the driving was smooth
or rough, or whether somebody bumped his fender, but he will
be quite unable to give you any real idea of the country through
which he went. So the average traveler through life remembers
chiefly what the road map or the guide book says, what he is
supposed to remember because it is exactly what everybody else
remembers too.
In the course of later childhood, adolescence, and adult life,
perception and experience themselves develop increasingly into
the rubber stamps of conventional cliches. The capacity to see
and feel what is there gives way to the tendency to see and feel
what one expects to see and feel, which, in turn, is what one is
7
expected to see and feel because everybody else does. Experience
increasingly assumes the form of the cliche under which it will be

recalled because this cliche is what conventionally is remembered

by others. This is not the remembered situation itself, but the

words which are customarily used to indicate this situation and
the reactions which it is supposed to evoke. While this ubiquitous
and powerful tendency toward pseudo-experience in terms of
conventional cliches usually takes place unnoticed, it is quite
articulate in some people and is used widely in advertising. There
are people who experience a party, a visit to the movies, a play,
a concert, a trip in the very words in which they are going to tell
their friends about it; in fact, quite often, they anticipate such

experience in these words. The experience is predigested, as it

were, even before they have tasted of it. Like the unfortunate
Midas, whose touch turned everything into gold so that he could
not eat or drink, these people turn the potential nourishment
of the anticipated experience into the sterile currency of the

T
Tolstoi gives a masterful description of how, in an adolescent girl during
a visit to the opera, the experience of what happens on the stage changes from
a genuine, naive, and fresh view to the conventional "appreciation" of the
opera habitue". His account of her initial perceptions, by the way, is a sur-
realist description of opera more than half a century "before surrealism.
Tolstoi, War and Peace, part 8, chapters 9 and 10.
212 Ernest G. Schachtel

conventional phrase which exhausts their experience because they

have seen, heard, felt nothing but this phrase with which later
have
they will report to their friends the "exciting time" they
had. The business seems
advertising to be quite aware of this.

It does not have to promise a good book, a well-written and

movie. It suffices
well-performed play, an entertaining or amusing
to say that the book, the play, the movie will be the talk of the
town, of the next party, of one's friends. To have been there,
to be able to say that one has been present at the performance,
to have read the book even when one is unable to have the

slightest personal reaction to it, is quite sufficient. But while

Midas suffered tortures of starvation, the people under whose
turns into a barren cliche do not know
eyes every experience
that they starve. Their starvation manifests itself merely in bore-
dom or in restless activity and incapacity of any real enjoyment.
Memory even more governed by conventional patterns than
is
while all
perception and experience are. One might say that,
human experience, perception, and thought are eminently social
that determined by the socially prevailing ways of experienc-
is

ing, perceiving, and thinking memory is even more socialized,

to an even higher degree dependent on the commonly accepted
categories of what and how one remembers. "Rationalization,"
as psycho-analytic theory knows it, is but one type of such trans-
formation of actual experience into individually and socially
is even
acceptable cliches. One important reason why memory
more susceptible than experience and perception to such conven-
tionalization is that experience and perception always are in some,

however flimsy, immediate relation to the situation experienced,

the object perceived, while memory is distant from it in time and
space. The object of memory has less chance
than the objects of
experience and perception have to penetrate and do away with
social mores and
part of that glass, colored and ground by the
viewpoints, through which man sees everything or fails to see it.
Memory is a distance sense, as it were, and to an even greater
degree than the two other distance senses, vision and hearing
less immediately related to its objects than the proximity senses
of smell, taste, and touch, and more influenced and moulded by
the categories of the mind. Also like sight and hearing, only more
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 213

so, memory is a phylogenetically and ontogenetically more dif-

ferentiated, later, and more "spiritual" development than smell,

taste,and touch. All this predestines memory to lose contact with
actual experience and to substitute preformed, conventional pat-
terns of thought for it. And, as will be seen later, it has significant

bearing especially on the problem of early childhood amnesia.

It is safe to assume that early childhood is the period of human

life which richest in experience. Everything is
is new to the new-
born and of the world
child. His gradual grasp of his environment
around him are discoveries which, in experiential scope and
quality, go far beyond any discovery that the most adventurous
and daring explorer will ever make in his adult life. No Colum-
bus, no Marco Polo has ever seen stranger and more fascinating
and thoroughly absorbing sights than the child that learns to
perceive, to taste, to smell, to touch, to hear and see, and to use
his body, his senses, and his mind. No wonder that the child
shows an insatiable curiosity. He has thewhole world to discover.
Education and learning, while on the one hand furthering this
process of discovery, on the other hand gradually brake and
finally stop it completely. There are relatively few adults who
are fortunate enough to have retained something of the child's
curiosity, his capacity for questioning and for wondering. The
average adult "knows all the answers," which is exactly why he
will never know even a single answer. He has ceased to wonder,
to discover. He knows his way around, and it is indeed a way
around and around the same conventional pattern, in which
everything is familiar and nothing cause for wonder. It is this
adult who answers the child's questions and, in answering, fails
to answer them but instead acquaints the child with the conven-
tional patterns of his civilization, which effectively close up the
asking mouth and shut the wondering eye. Franz Kafka once
formulated this aspect of education by saying that "probably all
education is but two things, first, parrying of the ignorant chil-
dren's impetuous assault on the truth and, second, gentle, imper-
ceptible, step-by-step initiation of
the humiliated children into the
lie."
Most children go through a period of endless questioning.
214 Ernest G. Schachtel

While at first they desire an answer, gradually their search turns

into an almost automatic repetition of the same seemingly sense-
less question or into the related ritual of countering every answer
with a new question. It is as though the child no longer really
expected or perhaps wanted to obtain information by this type of
questioning, but expressed only the last stubborn assault against
the unbroken wall of adult "answers." The child has already al-
most forgotten what he wanted to know, but he still knows that
he wanted to know and did not receive an answer. The automatic
questioning may have the unconscious purpose of driving this
point home to the adult. It is chiefly during the period of early
childhood that the quality of the world around him changes for
the growing child from a place where everything is new and to be
explored to be tasted, smelled, touched and handled, wondered
about and marveled at to a place where everything either has
received a name and a label or is potentially capable of being
"explained" by such a label, a process which will be pursued sys-
tematically in school. No experience, no object perceived with the
quality of freshness, newness, of something wonder-full, can be
preserved and recalled by the conventional concept of that object
as designated in its conventional name in language. Even if, in
modern western such fresh experi-
civilization, the capacity for
ence has largely been deadened, most people, unless they have
become complete automatons, have had glimpses of the exhila-
rating quality that makes fresh experience, unlabeled, so unique,
concrete, and filled with life. They can realize, if their attention
is called to it, the great difference between such experience and

one which merely registers the label of things seen, the furniture
of the room, the familiar faces, the houses on the street. Yet this
difference is small when compared with the difference that sepa-
rates the young and discoveries from the
child's fresh experience
adult's recognition of the familiar cliches into which the auto-
matic labeling of perception and language has transformed the
objects around him. Since adult memory functions predominantly
in terms of recalling cliches, the conventional schemata of things
and experiences rather than the things and experiences them-
selves, it becomes apparent how ill-equipped, in fact incapable,
such conventionalized memory is to recall the experiences of
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 215

early childhood in their freshness, in the real significance which

they had at that time. The age of discovery, early childhood, h
buried deep under the age of routine familiarity, adulthood.

The process of schematization and conventionalization and its

effect on the raw material of experience, especially childhood
experience, can be well observed in two of its specific develop-
ments which take place as the child learns to make use of his
senses and to speak. Language, in its articulating and its obscur-
ing function, may be considered first since the adult, too, en-
counters the problem of the incompatibility of experience with
language and the consequent forgetting of experience or its distor-
tion by the cliche of language. The fact that language is adult

language, the language of an adult civilization, and that the in-

fant and small child is moulded only very gradually from its
natural existence into a member of the civilization into which it
isborn makes the discrepancy between his precivilized, unsche-
matized experience and the categories of civilized, conventional
language much greater. Yet between this discrepancy and that
existing between the adult's experience and his language, there
is a difference of degree rather than of kind. Everyone who has

honestly tried to describe some genuine experience exactly, how-

ever small and insignificant it may have seemed, knows how diffi-
cult if not impossible that is. One might well say that the greatest

problem of the writer or the poet is the temptation of language.

At every step a word beckons, it seems so convenient, so suitable,
one has heard or read it so often in a similar context, it sounds
so well, it makes the phrase flow so smoothly. If he follows the
temptation of this word, he will perhaps describe something that
many people recognize at once, that they already know, that fol-
lows a familiar pattern; but he will have missed the nuance that
distinguishes his experience from others, that makes it his own. If

he wants to communicate that elusive nuance which in some way,

however small, be his contribution, a widening or opening of
will
the scope of articulate human experience at some point, he has to
fight constantly against
the easy flow of words that offer them-
selves. Like the search for truth, which never reaches its goal yet
never can be abandoned, the endeavor to articulate, express, and
216 Ernest G. Schachtel

communicate an experience can never succeed completely. It con-

sists of an approach, step by step, toward that distant vantage

point, that bend of the road from

which one hopes to see the
real experience in its entirety and from where it will become visi-
ble to others a point which is never reached. The lag, the dis-
force in
crepancy between experience and word is a productive
man as long as he remains aware of it, as long as he knows and
feels that his experience was in some way more than and differ-

ent from what his concepts and words articulate. The awareness
of this unexplored margin of experience, which may be its essen-
tial part, can turn into that productive energy which
enables man

to go one step closer to understanding and communicating his

and thus add to the scope of human insight. It is this

experience,
awareness and the struggle and the ability to narrow the gap
between experience and words which make the writer and the
poet.
Two major trends operate in the direction of the eventual out-
come of early childhood amnesia. First, the schemata for articu-
late experience and for recall of such experience are relatively
slow and late in developing. They are entirely lacking in the
earliest period of life and one could say generally that as they
of newness and
develop, experience gradually loses its character
acquires the quality of familiarity and recognition. The tremen-
dous amount of experience which the small child undergoes does
not, therefore, find a proportionate variety of suitable vessels

(schemata) forits preservation. Second, the quality of early

childhood experience does not fit into the developing schemata

of experience, thought, and memory since these are fashioned by
the adult culture and all its biases, emphases, and taboos.

Both these trends become even more apparent if one considers

them in connection with the development of the senses in the
child. Such a consideration also shows how closely biological and
cultural factors are interwoven in the causation of early child-
hood amnesia and how difficult, if not impossible, it is to draw a
clear borderline between the two. What might have been a cul-
tural factor in man's prehistory may well seem to the present
observer like a biological development. Phylogenetically as well
as ontogenetically the distance senses, sight and hearing, attain
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 217

development later than the proximity senses, smell, taste,

their full
and touch. Sight and hearing are more highly differentiated and
more closely linked up with the human mind than smell, taste,
and touch. The latter senses, especially smell and taste, are
neglected and to a considerable extent even tabooed by western
They are the animalistic senses par excellence. Man,
civilization.
who has been engaged for thousands of years in a battle for con-
trol and mastery of nature outside and inside himself, especially

western man, does not want to be reminded that he is not only

man but also nature, also animal. Because of the cultural taboo
on smell and taste smell even more than taste, but the two are
inseparable it is even possible for the adult to realize clearly the
effect which the discrepancy between experience on the one
hand, and language and memory schemata, on the other hand, has
on the capacity for recall, especially voluntary recall. English
vocabulary, and equally the vocabulary of the other western lan-
guages, is conspicuously poor in words for the description of
smells and tastes. Even when it comes to the flavor of wine or
of a dish, in spite of the great material and historical role
of drinking and eating, language is quite incapable of expressing
any but the crudest differences, in taste. A wine is said to be dry,
sweet, robust, fine, full and so on, but none of these words enables
one to imagine the flavor and bouquet of the wine. Compared
with this poverty of words, the vocabulary for the description of
the visible world and its forms and colors is much richer. Even
poetry has never succeeded in conjuring the flavor of a smell or
taste, although it sometimes enables the imagination to evoke
a visual image. For these reasons, the experience schemata for
smell and taste sensations are relatively undeveloped. This is
true even more of the memory schemata. A
taste or a smell is

usually remembered only involuntarily; that is, the former experi-

ence may berecognized by renewed encounter with the same
stimulus. But it is difficult or impossible for most people to recall
voluntarily the taste of a particular wine or the smell of a par-
ticular flower, animal, or person. In fact, most people are hardly
aware of the differences in smell of different, people.
Both pleasure and disgust are more intimately linked with the
proximity senses than with the distance senses. The pleasure
2ig Ernest G. Schachtel

a perfume, a taste, or a texture can give is much more

of
which
a bodily, physical one, hence also more akin to sexual pleasure,
than is the more sublime pleasure aroused by sound and the least
beautiful No other
bodily of all pleasures, the sight of something
sense produces the emotion of disgust more easily and violently
and provokes reactions of nausea and vomiting more readily
than the olfactory sense. The infant is not disgusted by his feces;
he quite likes their smell. Very many, if not most adults do not
have the reaction of disgust to the smell of their own excretions;
or the excre-
many do not show it with regard to the body odor
tions of a beloved person. As everybody knows, animals, espe-
are best able to tell one person from another and one
cially dogs,
dog from another by body and excretion smell. The infant, long
before he knows and remembers how his mother looks,
knows
how she smells and tastes. Very likely, angry or frightened
mother tastes and smells rather different from good or com-
fortable mother to the infant, just as she will look very
different

to him as he older. 8 In his

growing experience of the world
grows
around him, the proximity senses at first have primacy over the
distance senses. He tastes and sniffs and touches earlier and
better than he perceives with eye and ear. In order to get really
he has to touch it and
acquainted with something or somebody,
to put it in his mouth as he first did with his mother's nipple.
from
Only very gradually and slowly does the emphasis shift
the proximity to the distance senses. This partly biological and
phylogenetically determined shift is helped along powerfully and
the development of taste and smell discouraged by the stringent
taboos of the significant adults, who do not want baby to take
everything in his mouth and who drastically
and persistently in
cleanliness education show their disgust with the most impor-
tant objects of smell, those of the body and its excretions, so that
the child cannot but feel that he has to refrain not only from the
pleasure given by body and excretion odors but even from the
of the sense of
Groddeck, speaking about the paramount importance
8

smell in infancy and early childhood, asserts that,, even more

than the dog,
the child judges people and objects largely by their smell and, since the
child is small or is being held on the lap, this means chiefly the smell
ot

legs, lap, sexual and excretory organs. Groddeck, G.,

The World of Man;
The C. W. Daniel Company, London 1934; > 132.
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 219

discriminating perception of them. The proximity senses, which

play such a great role in relations between animals and, if not
repressed, in the sexual relations of man, are otherwise tabooed
in interpersonal relations the more a culture or a group tends to
isolate people, to put distance between them, and to prevent
spontaneous relationships and the "natural" animal-like expres-
sions of such relations. The emphasis on distance and the taboo
on smell in modern society is more outspoken in the ruling than
in the laboring class, distance being also a means of domination
and of imposing authority. Disgust arises where the repression
has not succeeded completely and a powerful deterrent is needed
in order to bolster it. 9

In one other area of life, namely in the realm of dreams, one

finds a general amnesia, although it is not quite so pervasive as
that pertaining to early childhood. A closer study of the recall
of dreams and especially of the period of awakening from a
dream, when quite often one can observe its disappearance from
memory or its transformation or fragmentation, may therefore
add disprove, or corroborate the hypotheses developed so far.
to,
It is probable that the majority of dreams are not remembered
at all. A
great many others are recalled in fragments only. Of
those that are still remembered at the time of awakening, very
many are forgotten in the course of the day, quite often in the
first few minutes or the first hour of beginning the daily activities

of rising, getting dressed, and so on. The relatively small propor-

tion of dreams surviving in memory undergo a rapid transforma-
tion and fragmentation and usually they, too, are forgotten after
a few days. If they are not forgotten, they lose increasingly their
peculiar dream quality, and the peculiar language of the dream
changes in the direction of conventionalization and rationaliza-
tion. The dreams that make such a profound impression on the
dreamer that they survive all these obstacles, although not with-
out some damage, are rare indeed. Thus the question arises: What
are the causes of this usual, general dream-amnesia? Why does

8
Something of the importance of the deeply rooted taboo on smell in
westernman conies to the surface in the vituperative and hateful use that is

made of body odor in interracial conflicts.

220 Ernest G. Schachtet

one forget by far the greater part of his mental life going on dur-

ing sleep, a life that in most people, judging from the fragments
recalled, seems to be far more original, interesting, spontaneous,
and creative than their waking life? It shares these latter qualities
with early childhood which, from all one can observe, seems to
be the most fascinating, spontaneous, original, and creative period
in the life of most or perhaps of all people. Is it because of these

qualities that the conventionalized memory

schemata cannot re-
produce the great majority of dreams and their real character?

Freud devotes a whole section of The Interpretation of Dreams

to the problem of the forgetting of dreams. His purpose in this
section is to defend the validity of dream interpretation against
the objection that one does not really know his dreams because he
either forgets or distorts them. Freud's answer to the problem is

that the "forgetting of dreams depends far more on the resistance

[to the dream thought] than on the mutually alien character of
the waking and sleeping states" and that the distortion of the
dream in recalling or recounting it is "the secondary and often
misunderstanding elaboration of the dream by the agency of
normal thinking" and thus "no more than a part of the elabora-
tion to which dream thoughts are constantly subjected as a result
of the dream-censorship." I think that the question should be
raised whether "resistance" and "mutually alien character of the
waking and sleeping states" are really, as Freud seems to assume,
mutually exclusive and contradictory explanations of dream
amnesia and dream distortion by waking thought. Or whether,
as I believe, "resistance" is operative in the awake person, not

only against the dream thought but against the whole quality and
language of the dream, a resistance, to be sure, of a somewhat
different character, yet fundamentally related to that which re-
presses and censors those dream thoughts which are intolerable
for consciousness.
In sleep and dream, man's activity in the outer world is sus-

pended, especially his motor activity. Attention and perception

are withdrawn from outer reality. The necessity to cope with the
environment is interrupted for the duration of sleep. The stringent
rules of logic and reason subside rules which during waking life
are geared to useful, rational, adaptative, conventional control
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 221

of behavior and thought. The psyche receives leave, for the

period of sleep, from the demands of active life in society. As
Freud expresses it, endopsychic censorship is reduced. And the
psyche makes good use of this short leave from the demands of
productions, seen from the usual, realistic viewpoint,
reality. Its
seem utterly useless. It is true that other, older civilizations did
not always share this viewpoint, but attributed considerable im-
portance to dreams, sometimes greater importance than to waking
thought. But measured with the yardstick of modern western
civilization with its emphasis on useful, efficient production and
work, dreams are really quite useless.
During sleep motor activity, most essential for dealing with
the outer reality of objects and people, is reduced to a minimum.
The dream is a mental production without any conscious effort
and one in which the dreamer passively gives in to the images
evoked by his phantasy. In that sense the dream is the opposite
of work as it is known to western civilization, the opposite of
efficiency. When
awakening, it is often possible to catch hold of a
dream [asRorschach has pointed out] if one lies perfectly still
and does not open his eyes. But the first movement, especially
an active one like jumping out of bed, will very often chase the
dream into oblivion. In other words, the return to the outer
world through motor activity and reshifting of attention and
perception to the environment leads to forgetting of the dream.
This process is a quite general one and, as far as I have been able
to observe, bears no relation to specific dream content. Therefore
it seems to stem from the incompatibility of the extroversive atti-

tude of waking with the introversive attitude of dreaming, rather

than from resistance to specific strivings which are expressed
in the dream thoughts. The antagonism between motor activity
and dream recall brings to mind Proust's words, that he could
recapture his former being only "dehors de Faction, de la jouis-
sance immediate" and that in such a moment he did not dare to
budge lest he lose the refound memory of the past.
But even without the described effect of the resumption of
motor activity on the voluntary recall of dreams, it seems obvious
that the experience and memory schemata developed and formed

by man's life in his society are much less suitable to preserve the
222 Ernest G. Schachtel

phantastic world of the dream than to recall conventional waking

experience. The awakening mind has to cope again with outer
and to this end has to remobilize all the patterns and
reality,
schemata useful for, and developed by, the conventional social
forms of life and work. Attention has to be paid to the environ-
ment. And the attitude of attention Is to the mind what purpose-
ful motor activity is to the body.
In the forgetting and distortion of dreams during waking life

it isimportant between that which is due to the

to distinguish
resistance to and repression of a specific dream thought or dream
content and that which is due to the incapacity of the conven-
tionalmemory schemata to retain the phantastic general quality
and the strange language of dreams. The distortion of a dream
thought which resistance wants to keep from awareness
has to
be distinguished from the process of conventionalization which,
more or less, all dream elements undergo because the medium of
the dream language is incompatible with the medium of the con-
ventional world of waking life. In the degree of this incompati-
bility there are, of course,
considerable variations between differ-
ent people and, even more so, between different cultures. But
modern western civilization streamlined efficiency, uni-
with its

form mass culture, and emphasis on usefulness in terms of

profitable, material production is particularly and strikingly at

the opposite pole from the world of dreams.

The hidden quality of lost memories, their separation from the

rest of life, their inaccessibility, and their incompatibility with

voluntary memory and with conventional, purposeful, daily ac-

tivity are described lucidly by Proust. He compares the recesses
of the lost memories to a thousand vases distributed on the vari-
ous altitudes of the past years of one's life, filled with the particu-
lar atmosphere of that period of his life, and containing some-
times a gesture, a word, an insignificant act which, however, may
be the key to the recapturing of the lost experiences, the lost past
of his According to him, the very fact that the experience,
life.

the past time, has been forgotten and thus has remained isolated
as at the bottom of a valley or on the peak of a summit, gives it
an incomparable air of freshness and aliveness when it is re-
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 223

covered, because it has not been able to form any link -with the

present. In other words, it has not been distorted by the memory

schemata, by the needs and fears of the present, by the routine of
daily life. Proust's view, here, is almost identical with that of
Freud, whose theory of memory postulates that only that which
is unconscious can leave a permanent memory trace and that

"becoming conscious and leaving behind a memory trace are

10
processes incompatible with each other in the same system."
In Proust's work the recovery of the forgotten past is character-
ized as the supreme satisfaction, carrying with it a sense of
exhilarating happiness and constituting the very core of the work
of art. This is not the place to discuss the profound meaning of
his evaluation which, three thousand years after the Greek myth,

again celebrates memory as the mother of and poetry. Be it

art
sufficient to say that in the conflict of modernsociety between
efficientadaptation and activity, on the one hand, and the preser-
vation and recovery of the total personality, which to him seems
possible only by the fullest awareness of the individual past,
Proust sides against his society and with the "lost paradises" of
his own past. And
it is true that each genuine recovery of for-

gotten experience and, with it, something of the person that one
was when having the experience carries with it an element of
enrichment, adds to the light of consciousness, and thus widens
the conscious scope of one's life.

Cultures vary in the degree to which they impose cliches on

experience and memory. The more a society develops in the
direction of mass conformism, whether such development be
achieved by a totalitarian pattern or within a democratic frame-
work by means of the employment market, education, the pat-
terns of social advertising, press, radio, movies, best-sellers,
life,

and so on, the more stringent becomes the rule of the conven-
tional experience and memory schemata in the lives of the mem-
bers of that society. In the history of the last hundred years of
western civilization the conventional schematization of experi-

Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle, The International Psycho-analytical

10

Press, London 1922; p. 28. See also, The Interpretation of Dreams, Basic
Writings, pp. 488-491.
224 Ernest G. Schachtel

ence and memory has become increasingly prevalent at an accel-

erating pace.
Mankind's belief in a lost paradise is repeated in the belief held
by most people, in the individual myth of their happy childhood.
Like most myths this one contains elements of both truth and
illusion, is woven out of wishes, hopes, remembrance and sor-
row, and hence has more than one meaning. One finds this
belief even in people who have undergone cruel experiences as
children and who had, without being or remaining aware of it,
a childhood with hardly any love and affection from their parents.
No doubt, one reason for the myth of happy childhood is that
it bolsters parental authority and maintains a conventional prop

of the authority of the family by asserting that one's parents were

good and benevolent people who did everything for the good of
their children, however much they may have done against it. And
disappointed and suffering people, people without hope, want to
believe that at least once there was a time in their life when they
were happy. But the myth of happy childhood reflects also the
truth that as in the myth of paradise lost, there was a time be-
fore animalistic innocence was lost, before pleasure-seeking nature
and pleasure-forbidding culture clashed in the battle called educa-
tion, a battle in which the child always is the loser. At no time is
life so exclusively and directly governed by the pleasure principle

as it is in early infancy; at no other time is man, especially

civilized man, capable of abandoning himself so completely to

pleasure and satisfaction. The myth of happy childhood takes the

place of the lost memory of the actual riches, spontaneity, fresh-
ness of childhood experience, an experience which has been for-
gotten because there is no place for it in the adult memory
schemata.
Childhood amnesia covers those aspects and experiences of the
former personality which are incompatible with the culture. If
they were remembered, man would demand that society affirm
and accept the total personality with all its potentialities. In a
society based on partial suppression of the personality such a
demand, even the mere existence of a really free personality,
would constitute a threat to the society. Hence it becomes neces-
sary for the society that the remembrance of a time in which the
On Memory and Childhood Amnesia 225

potentialities of a fuller, freer, and more spontaneous life were

strongly present and alive be extinguished. In memory's service
of this purpose one may distinguish two processes which over-
lap and shade into one another. One process leaves the culturally
unacceptable or unusable experiences and the memory thereof to
starvation by the expedient of providing no linguistic, conceptual,
and memory schemata for them and by channeling later experi-
ence into the experience schemata of the culture. As the person,
in the process of education, gradually comes to live more and
more exclusively within the framework of the culturally and con-
ventionally provided experience schemata, there is less and less
to remind him of the possibility of trans-schematic experience.

Compared with this process, the dynamism of the taboo and of

repression of individually or culturally tabooed experience and
strivings is like the nightstick of the policeman compared with the
gradual, slow, insinuating process of education in which some
things are just not mentioned and others said to be for the best
of the child. But the dynamism active in normal amnesia is even
more subtle than what
usually called education. It is an educa-
is

tion of which the educators are not aware and of which the child
istoo helpless and too inarticulate to have more than the vaguest
feeling that something is happening to him. On the other hand,
those strivings, qualities, and potentialities of the child which are
too strong to be left behind to die by the side of the road of edu*
cation and which endanger the current social and cultural pattern
have to be battled by the more drastic means of taboo and repres-
sion. In this sphere sexuality and the conflict with parental auv

thority play central roles. One might say that taboo and repres*
sion are the psychological cannons of society against the child
and against man, whereas in normal amnesia society uses the
method of blockade and slow starvation against those experiences
and memories which do not fit into the cultural pattern and which
do not equip man for his role in the social process. The two
methods of warfare supplement each other and, in the siege con-
ducted by society against the human potentialities and inclina-
tions which transcend the cultural pattern, the cannon helps to
maintain the blockade, and the blockade and ensuing starvation
make it less necessary to use the cannon.
226 Ernest G. Schachte!

Hesiod us that Lethe (Forgetting) is the daughter of

tells Eris
11
(Strife). Amnesia, normal and pathological, is indeed the

daughter of conflict, the conflict between nature and society and

the conflict in society, the conflict between society and man and
the conflict within man. Lethe is the stream of the underworld,
of forgetting, the stream which constantly flows and never retains.
In the realm of Lethe dwell the Danai'des, who are condemned
eternally to pour water into a leaking vessel. Plato interprets this
as the punishment of those unwise souls who leak, who cannot
remember and are therefore always empty. 12
But Mnemosyne is an older and more powerful goddess than
Lethe. According to Hesiod she was one of the six Titanesses
from whom all gods stem. And it was one of the world-founding
deeds of Zeus that he begot the muses on her. Memory cannot be
entirely extinguished in his capacity for experience cannot
man,
be entirely suppressed by schematization. It is in those experi-
ences which transcend the cultural schemata, in those memories
of experience which transcend the conventional memory sche-
mata, that every new insight and every true work of art have
their origin, and that the hope of progress, of a widening of the

scope of human endeavor and human life, is founded.

11
Hesiod, Theogony, 227.
Plato, Gorgias, 493 c 2. For the mythology of Mnemosyne and Lethe,
see Kerenyi, Karl, Mnemosyne-Lesmosyne, in Die Geburt der Helena; Rhein
Verlag, Zuerich 1945.
 14

ERIK H. ERIKSON

Toys and Reasons*

I would look at a play act as, vaguely speaking, a function oi

the ego, an attempt to bring into synchronization the bodily and

the social processes of which one is a part even while one is a
self. ... To hallucinate ego mastery is the purpose of play
but play, as we shall see presently, is the undisputed master of
only a very slim margin of existence. What is play and what
is it not? Let us consult language, and then return to chil-

dren. . . .

When man plays he must intermingle with the laws of things

and people in a similarly uninvolved and light fashion. He must
do something which he has chosen to do without being com-
pelled by urgent interests or impelled by strong passion; he must
feel entertained and free of any fear or hope of serious conse-

quences. He is on vacation from reality or, as is most commonly

emphasized: he does not work. It is this opposition to work
which gives play a number of connotations. One of these is
"mere fun" whether it is hard to do or not. As Mark Twain
commented, "constructing artificial flowers ... is work, while
climbing the Mont Blanc
only amusement." In Puritan times
is

and places, however, mere fun always connoted sin; the Quak-
ers warned that you must "gather the flowers of pleasure
in the fields of duty." Men of equally puritan mind could permit
play only because they believed that to find "relief from moral
activity is in itself a moral necessity." Poets, however, place the

*
Reprinted from Childhood and Society by Erik H. Erikson, by permission
of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Copyright 1950 by W. W. Norton &
Company, Inc.

227
228 Erik H. Erikson

emphasis elsewhere: "Man is perfectly human only when he

plays," said Schiller. Thus play is a borderline phenomenon to
a number of human activities and, in its own playful way, it
tries to elude definition.
It is most strenuous and dangerous play is
true that even the
by definition not work,
i.e., does not produce commodities.
Where it does, it "goes professional." But this fact, from the
start, makes the comparison of adult
and child's play somewhat
senseless; for the adult is a commodity -producing and com-
modity-exchanging animal, whereas the child is only preparing
to become one. To the working adult, play is re-creation. It

those forms of defined

permits a periodical stepping out from
limitation which are his reality. . . .

The playing child, then, poses a problem: whoever does not

work shall not play. Therefore, to be tolerant of the child's play
the adult must invent theories which show either that childhood
play is really work or that it does not count. The most popular
theory and the easiest on the observer is that the child is nobody
yet, and that the nonsense of his play reflects it. Scientists have
tried to find other explanation for the freaks of childish play by
considering them representative of the fact that childhood is

neither here nor there. According to Spencer, play uses up surplus

energy in the young of a number of mammalians who do not
need to feed or protect themselves because their parents do it
for them. However, Spencer noticed that wherever circumstances
permit play, tendencies are "simulated" which are "unusually
ready to act, unusually ready to have their correlative feelings
aroused." Early psychoanalysis added to this the "cathartic"
theory, according to which play has a definite function in the
growing being in that it permits him to work off past emotions
and to find imaginary relief for past frustrations.
In order to evaluate these theories, let us turn to the game of
another, a younger boy. He lived near another mighty river, the
Danube, and his play was recorded by another great psychologist,
Sigmund Freud, who wrote:
1

^Sigmund Freud, A General Selection, edited by John Rickman, The

Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psycho-Analysis, London, 1937.
Toys and Reasons 229
Without the Intention of making a comprehensive study of these
phenomena, I availed myself of an opportunity which offered of

elucidating the first game invented by himself of a boy eighteen

months old. It was more than a casual observation, for I lived for
some weeks under the same roof as the child and his parents, and
it was a considerable time before the
meaning of his puzzling and
continually repeated performance became clear to me.
The was in no respect forward in his intellectual develop-
child
ment; but he made himself understood by his parents and the
. . .

maidservant, and had a good reputation for behaving "properly.'" He

did not disturb his parents at night; he scrupulously obeyed orders
about not touching various objects and not going into certain rooms;
and above all he never cried when his mother went out and left him
for hours together, although the tie to his mother was a very close
one: she had not only nourished him herself, but had cared for him
and brought him up without any outside help. Occasionally, however,
this well-behaved child evinced the troublesome habit of flinging
into the corner of theroom or under the bed all the little things he
could lay his hands on, so that to gather up his toys was often nc
He accompanied this by an expression of interest and grati-
light task.
emitting a loud, long-drawn-out "O-o-o-oh" which in the
fication,
judgment of the mother (one that coincided with my own) was not
an interjection but meant "go away" [fort]. I saw at last that this
was a game, and that the child used all his toys only to play "being
gone" \jort setn] with them. One day, I made an observation that
confirmed my view. The child had a wooden reel with a piece of
string wound round it. It never occurred to him, for example, to drag
this after him on the floor and so play horse and cart with it, but he

kept throwing it with considerable skill, held by the string, over the
side of his little draped cot, so that the reel disappeared into it, then
said his significant "O-o-o-oh" and drew the
by the string out reel
of the cot again, greeting its reappearance with a joyful "Da" [there].
This was therefore the complete game, disappearance and return,
the first act being the only one generally observed by the onlookers,
and the one untiringly repeated by the child as a game for its own
sake, although the greater pleasure unquestionably attached to the
second This interpretation was fully established by a fur-
act. . . .

ther observation.One day when the mother had been out for some
hours she was greeted on her return by the information "Baby o-o-o-
oh" which at first remained unintelligible. It soon proved that during
his long lonely hours he had found a method of bringing about his
230 Erik H. Erikson

own disappearance. He had discovered his reflection in the long

mirror
which nearly reached to the ground and had then crouched down in
front of it, so that the reflection was fort.

To understand what Freud saw in this game we must note

that at the time he was interested in (and, in fact, writing about)
the strange phenomenon of the "repetition compulsion" i.e., the
aeed to re-enact painful experiences in words or acts. . . .

As Freud was writing about this, he became aware of the

solitary play described and of the fact that the frequency of
the main theme (something or somebody disappears and comes
back) corresponded to the intensity of the life experience re-
flected namely, the mother's leaving in the morning and her
return at night.
This dramatization takes place in the play sphere. Utilizing
his mastery over objects, the child can arrange them in such
a way that they permit him to imagine that he is master of his
life predicament as well.For when the mother had left him,
she had removed herself from the sphere of his cries and de-
mands; and she had come back only when it happened to suit
her. In his game, however, the little boy has the mother by a

string. He makes her go away, even throws her away, and then
makes her come back at his pleasure. He has, as Freud put it,
turned passivity into activity; he plays at doing something that
was in reality done to him.
Freud mentions three items which may guide us in a further
social evaluation of this game. First, the child threw the object

away. Freud sees in this a possible expression of revenge "If

you don't want to stay with me, I don't want you" and thus
an additional gain in active mastery by an apparent growth of
emotional autonomy. In his second play act, however, the child
goes further. He abandons the object altogether and, with the
use of a full-length mirror, plays "going away" from himself and
returning to himself. He is now both the person who is being
left and the person who leaves. He has become master by in-

corporating not only the person who, in life, is beyond his control,
but the whole situation, with both its partners. . . .

But does the child's play so a frequent question goes always

Toys and Reasons 231

"mean" something personal and sinister? What if ten children,

in horse-and-buggy days, begin to play with reels on strings,
pulling them behind themselves and playing horsie? Must it
mean anything to one of them over and beyond what it seems
tomean to all?
As we have said already, children, if traumatized, choose for
their dramatizations play material which is available in their
culture and manageable at their age. What is available
depends
on the cultural circumstances and is therefore common to all
children who share these circumstances. Boys today do not play
steamboat but use bicycles as more tangible objects of co-
ordination which does not prevent them from imagining, on
the way to school or the grocery, that they are
flying through
the air and machine-gunning the enemy; or that they are the
Lone Ranger himself on a glorious Silver. What is manageable,
however, depends on the child's powers of co-ordination, and
therefore is shared only by those who have reached a certain

level of maturation. What has a common meaning to all the

children in a community (i.e., the idea of having a reel and
string represent a living thing on a leash) may have a special
who have just learned to manipu-
meaning to some (i.e., all those
late reel and and may thus be ready to enter a new sphere
string
of participation and communal symbolization) Yet all of this
.

may have, in addition, a unique meaning to individual children

who have lost a person or an animal and therefore endow the
game with a What these children "have
particular significance.
by the string" not just any animal it is the personification of
is

a particular, a significant, and a lost animal or person. To

evaluate play the observer must, of course, have an idea of what
all the children of a given age in a given community are apt to

play. Only thus can he decide whether or not the unique mean-
ing transcends the common meaning. To understand the unique
meaning itself requires careful observation, not only of the play's
content and form, but also of accompanying words and visible
affects, especially those which lead to what we shall describe in
the next chapter as "play disruption."
In order to approach the problem of anxiety in play, let us con-
sider the activity of building and destroying a tower. Many a
232 Erik H - Erikson

mother thinks that her little son is in a "destructive stage" or

even has a "destructive personality" because, after building a
big, big tower, the boy cannot follow
her advice to leave the
tower for Daddy to see, but instead must kick it and make it
The almost manic pleasure with which children watch
collapse.
the in a second of the product of long play labor has
collapse
not appreciate it
puzzled many, especially since the child does
at all if his tower falls by accident or by a helpful uncle's hand.
He, the builder, must destroy it himself. This game, I should
think, arises from the not so distant experience of sudden
falls

at the very time when standing upright on wobbly legs afforded

a new and fascinating perspective on existence. The child who
consequently learns to make a tower "stand up" enjoys causing
the same tower to waver and collapse: in addition to the active
mastery over a previously passive event, it makes one
feel

stronger to know that there is somebody weaker and towers,

unlike little sisters, can't cry and call Mummy. But since it is

the child's still precarious mastery over space which is thus to be

demonstrated, it is understandable that watching somebody else
kick one's tower may make the child see himself in the tower
rather than in the kicker: allfun evaporates. Circus clowns later
take over when they obligingly fall all over the place from mere
ineptness, and yet continue to challenge gravity and causality
with ever renewed innocence: there are, then, even big people
who are funnier, dumber, and wobblier. Some children, how-
ever, who find themselves too much identified with the clown
cannot stand his downfalls: to them they are "not funny." This
example throws light on the beginning of many an anxiety in
childhood, where anxiety around the child's attempt at ego
mastery finds unwelcome "support" from adults who treat him
roughly or amuse him with exercises which he likes only if and
when he himself has initiated them.
The child's play begins with and centers on his own body. This
we shall call autocosmic play. It begins before we notice it as
play, and consists at first in the exploration by repetition of sen-
sual perceptions, of kinesthetic sensations, of vocalizations, etc.
Next, the child plays with available persons and things. He may
playfully cry to see what wave length would serve best to make
 Toys and Reasons 233
the mother reappear, or he may indulge in experimental ex-
cursions on her body and on the protrusions and orifices of her
face. This is the child's first geography, and the basic
maps ac-
quired in such interplay with the mother no doubt remain guides
for the ego's first orientation in the "world." . . .

The microsphere the small world of manageable toys

i.e.,
is a harbor which the child establishes, to return to when he needs
to overhaul his ego. But the thing-world has its own laws: it

may resist reconstruction, or it may simply break to

pieces; it

may prove to belong to somebody else and be subject to con-

fiscation by superiors. Often the microsphere seduces the child
into an unguarded expression of dangerous themes and attitudes
which arouse anxiety and lead to sudden play disruption. This
is the counterpart in waking life of the
anxiety dream; it can keep
children from trying to play just as the fear of night terror can
keep them from going to sleep. If thus frightened or disappointed
in the microsphere, the child may regress into the autosphere,
day-dreaming, thumb-sucking, masturbating. On the other hand,
if the first use of the thing-world is successful and is
guided
properly, the pleasure of mastering toy things becomes associ-
ated with the mastery of the traumata which were projected on
them, and with the prestige gained through such mastery.
Finally, at nursery-school age playfulness reaches into the
macrosphere, the world shared with others. First these others are
treated as things, are inspected, run into, or forced to "be horsie,"
Learning is necessary in order to discover what potential play
content can be admitted only to fantasy or only to autocosmic
play; what content can be successfully represented only in the
microcosmic world of toys and things; and what content can
be shared with others and forced upon them.
As this is learned, each sphere is endowed with its own sense
of reality and mastery. For quite a while, then, solitary play re-
mains an indispensable harbor for the overhauling of shattered
emotions after periods of rough going in the social seas. This, and
the fact that a child can be counted upon to bring into the
solitary play arranged for him whatever aspect of his ego has
been ruffled most, form the fundamental condition for our diag-
nostic reliance on "play therapy," which will be discussed next
234 Erik H. Erikson

What is infantile play, then? We

saw that it is not the equiva-
lent of adult play, that it is not recreation. The playing adult

steps sideward into another reality;

the playing child advances
forward to new stages of mastery. I propose the theory that
is the infantile form of the human ability
the child's to
play
and to master
deal with experience by creating model situations

reality by experiment and planning. It is phases of

in certain

his work that the adult projects past experience into dimensions
which seem manageable. In the laboratory, on the stage, and on
the drawing board, he relives the past and thus relieves leftover
affects; in reconstructing the model situation, he redeems his
the future from
failures and strengthens his hopes. He anticipates
the point of view of a corrected and shared past.
No thinker can do more and no playing child less. As William
Blake puts it: "The child's toys and the old man's reasons are
the fruits of the two seasons.'*

Play and Cure

Modern play therapy is based on the observation that a child

made insecure by a secret hate against or fear of the natural

protectors of his play in family and neighborhood

seems able
to use the protective sanction of an understanding adult to re-

gain some play peace. Grandmothers and

favorite aunts may
have played that role in the past; its professional elaboration of
today is the play therapist. The most obvious condition is that

the child has the toys and the adult for himself, and that sibling
rivalry,parental nagging, or any kind of sudden interruption
does not disturb the unfolding of his play intentions, whatever
they may be. For to "play it out" is the most natural self-healing
measure childhood affords.
Let us remember here the simple, if often embarrassing, fact
that adults, when traumatized, tend to solve their tension by
"talking it out." They are compelled, repeatedly, to describe the

painful event: seems to make them "feel better." Systems de-

it

signed to cure the soul or the mind make ritual use of this
tendency by providing, at regular intervals, an ordained or other-
Toys and Reasons 235

wise sanctioned listener who gives his undivided attention, is

sworn not to censure arbitrarily or to betray, and bestows ab-
solution by explaining how the individual's problem makes sense
in some larger context, be it sin, conflict, or disease. The method
finds its limitations where this "clinical" situation loses the de-
tachment in which life can be reflected, and itself becomes a
passionate conflict of dependence and hostility. In psychoanalytic
terms, the limitation is set by the tendency (especially strong in
neurotics) to transfer basic conflicts from their original infantile
setting into every new situation, including the therapeutic one.
This is what Freud meant when he said that the treatment itself,
at first, becomes a "transference neurosis." . . .

This phenomenon of transference in the playing child, as well

marks the point where simple meas-
as in the verbalizing adult,
ures fail namely, when an emotion becomes so intense that it
defeats playfulness, forcing an immediate discharge into the
play and into the relationship with the play observer. The failure
is characterized by what is to be described here as play disruption

i.e., the sudden and complete or diffused and slowly spreading

inability to play. We
saw such play disruption occur, on my
provocation, in Ann's case, when she had to leave me and my
tempting toys in order to rejoin her mother. Similarly, we saw
Sam trapped by his overpowering emotions in the middle of a
game. In both cases we used play as an incidental diagnostic
tool. I shall now introduce a little girl who, although she came
for diagnostic purposes only, led me through a full cycle of
play disruption and play triumph, and thus offered a good
example of the way in which the ego, flooded by fear, regains
through transference its synthesizing power.
Our patient is Mary. She is just three years old. She is a
somewhat pale brunette, but looks (and is) intelligent, pretty,
and quite feminine. She is said to be stubborn, babyish, and
shut-in when disturbed. Recently she has enriched her inven-
tory of expression by nightmares and by violent anxiety attacks
in the play group which she has recently joined. All that the
play group teachers can say is that Mary has a queer way of
lifting things and has a rigid posture: and that her tension seems
to increase in connection with the routines of resting and going
236 Erik H- Erikson

to the toilet. With this information at hand we invite Mary to

our office.

Maybe a word should be said here about the thoroughly dif-

ficult situation which ensues when a mother brings a child for
observation. The child has not chosen to come. He often does
not feel sick at all in the sense that he has a symptom which he
wishes to get rid of. On the contrary, all he knows is that

certain things and, most of all, certain people make him feel un-
comfortable and he wishes that we would do something about
these things and people not about him. Often he feels that
parents, and mostly he is right.
But
something is wrong with his
he has no words for this and, even if he did have, he has no
reason to trust us with such weighty information. On the other
hand, he does not know what the parents have told us about
hi m while God only knows what they have told the child about
us. For the parents, helpful as they may wish to be and necessary
as they are as initial informants, cannot be trusted in these
matters; the initial history given is often distorted by the wish
to justify (or secretly punish) themselves or to punish (and
unconsciously justify) somebody else, perhaps the grandparents
5
who "told you so.*

In this case, my office was in a hospital. Mary had been told

that she was coming to discuss her nightmares with me a man
whom she had never seen before. Her mother had consulted a
pediatrician regarding these nightmares and Mary had heard
the mother and the doctor argue over the possible indication for
a tonsillectomy. I had hoped, therefore, that she would notice
that the appointments of my office indicated a strictly non-medi-
cal affair and that she would give me a chance in simple and
straightforward terms to acknowledge the purpose of her visit,
to tell her that I was not a doctor and then to make clear that
we were going to play together in order to get acquainted. Such
explanations do not quite settle a child's doubts, but they may
permit him to turn to the toys and do something. The moment
he does something we can observe what he selects and repudiates
in our standard inventory of toys. Our next step, then, will be

guided by the meaning thus revealed.

Mary holds on to her mother as she enters my office. When
Toys and Reasons 237

she offers me her hand it is both rigid and cold. She gives me a
brief smile, then turns to her mother, puts her arms around her,
and holds her close to the still open door. She buries her head in
her mother's skirt as if she wanted to hide in it, and responds to
my advances only by turning her head to me with tightly closed
eyes. Yet she had for a split moment looked at me with a smile
that seemed to convey an interest as if she wanted to see
whether or not the new adult was going to understand fun. This
makes her flight to her mother seem somewhat dramatic. The
mother tries to encourage her to look at the toys, but Mary again
hides her face in her mother's skirt and repeats in a dramatically
babyish voice, "Mommy, mommy, mommy!" A
dramatic young
lady: I am not even quite sure that she is not hiding a smile. I
decide to wait.
Now Mary does make a decision. Still holding on to her mother,
she points to a (girl) doll and says several times quickly and
babyishly, "What that, what that?" After the mother has pa-
tiently explained that it is a dolly, Mary repeats "Dolly, dolly,
dolly," and suggests in words not understandable to me that
the mother take off the dolly's shoes. The mother tries to make
her perform this act herself, but Mary simply repeats her de-
mand. Her voice becomes quite anxious, and it is clear that we
may have tears in a moment.
Now the mother asks if it is not time for her to leave the
room and wait outside as she has told Mary she would. I ask
Mary whether we can let her mother go now and she, unex-
pectedly, makes no objection, not even when she suddenly finds
herself without anybody to lean on. I try to start a conversation
about the doll,which the mother has left in Mary's hand. Mary
grasps it firmly around the legs and suddenly, smiling mischiev-
ously, she begins to touch various things in the room with the
doll's head. When
a toy falls from the shelf, she looks at me
to see whether she has gone too far; when she sees me smile

permissively she laughs and begins to push smaller toys, always

with the doll's head, in such a way that they fall too. Her ex-
citement increases. With special glee she pushes with the doll's
head a toy train which is on the floor in the middle of the room.
She overturns all the cars, apparently having some exciting kind
238 Enk &' Erikson

of fun. But as the engine overturns she suddenly stops and be-
comes pale. She leans with her back against the sofa, holds the
doll over her lower abdominal region, and drops it on the floor.
She picks it up again, holds it over the same region, and drops
first to
it again. While repeating this several times, she begins
whine and then to yell, "Mommy, mommy, mommy."
The mother re-enters, sure that communication has failed, and
asks Mary whether she wants to go. I tell Mary that she may go
if she wishes but that I hope she will be back in a few days.
to
Quickly calmed, she leaves with her mother, saying good-by
the secretary outside as if she had had a pleasant visit.

Strangely enough, I too felt that the childhad made a suc-

cessful communication. With children, words are not always
necessary at the beginning. I had felt that the play
was leading
to a conversation. The fact of the mother's anxious inter-
up
ruption was, of course, as significant as the
child's play disruption.

Together, they probably explain the child's babyish anxiety.

But
what had she communicated with this emotional somersault, this
sudden hilarity and flushed aggressiveness, and this equally sud-
den inhibition and pale anxiety?
The discernible mode content had been pushing things, not
with her hand but with the doll as an extension of her hand; and
then dropping the same doll from the genital region.
The doll as an extension of the hand has been, as it were, a
pushing tool. This suggests that she may not dare to touch or
push things with her bare hand just as according to observa-
tion in her play group she seemed to touch or lift things in her
own special way. This, together with the general rigidity in
her extremities, suggests that Mary may be worried about her
hands, maybe as aggressive tools.
transfer of the doll to the lower abdominal region leads
The
to the suggestion that she was dramatizing the loss from that

region of an aggressive tool, a pushing instrument. The attack-

like state which overcame her at this point reminds me of some-
thing which I learned long ago : severe hysterical attacks in adult
women have been interpreted as dramatizations representing
both partners in an imagined scene. Thus, one hand in tearing
#f the patient's dress may dramatize an aggressor's approach,
Toys and Reasons 239

while the other, in clutching it, may represent the victim's at-
tempt to protect herself. Mary's attack impressed me as being
of such a nature: by dropping the doll several times, panicky
and yet as if obsessed, she seemed to be inexorably driven to
dramatize both the robbed and the robber.
But what was to be stolen from her? Here we would have tc
know which meaning is more relevant, the doll's use as an ag-
gressive tool or the doll as representing a baby. In the play
school, toilet situations were prominent among those which led
to similar outbreaks of anxiety. In this play hour the dropped
doll had first been the prolongation of an extremity and a tool
of (pushing) aggression, and then something lost in the lowei
abdominal region under circumstances of extreme anxiety. Does
Mary consider a penis such an aggressive weapon, and does she
dramatize the fact that she does not have one? From the mother's
account it is entirely probable that on entering the nursery school
Mary was given her first opportunity to go to the toilet in the
presence of boys.
I am thinking of the mother when she raps on the door. She

has left the child, now quite composed, outside to come back
and tell me that Mary was born with a sixth finger which was
removed when she was approximately six months old. Just prior
to the outbreak of her anxiety attacks, Mary had repeatedly and
urgently asked about the scar on her hand ("What that, what
that?")and had received the routine answer that it was "just a
mosquito bite." The mother admits that the child when some-
what younger could easily have been present when her congenital
anomaly was mentioned. Mary, the mother adds, has recently
been equally insistent in her sexual curiosity.
We can now understand the fact that Mary feels uneasy about
the aggressive use of her hand, which has been robbed of a
finger. But why did she put the hand
extension over the genital
to dramatize its loss from there? Is there some asso-
region only
ciation between the lost finger and the absent penis? Such an
association would bring into juxtaposition the observation of sex
differences in the play school and the immediate question of arj

operation.
Before Mary's second visit, her mother offered this furthei
240 Erik H, Erikson

information: Mary's sexual curiosity had recently received a

specific blow when her father, irritable because of a regional
increase in unemployment which threatened his means of liveli-
hood, had shown impatience with her during her usual morning
visit to him in the bathroom. In fact, he had shoved her out

of the room. told me later, he had angrily repeated the

As he
liked to watch the
words, "Youstay out of here!" She had
shaving process and had also on recent occasions (to his slight

annoyance) asked about his genitals. A

strict adherence to a

routine in which she could do, say, and ask the same thing over
and over again had always been a necessary condition for Mary's
inner security. She was "heartbroken" over the consequent ex-
clusion from the father's toilet.
We also discussed the fact (which I have already mentioned)
that Mary's disturbed sleep and foul breath had been attributed
by a pediatrician to a bad condition of the tonsils, and
that the
mother and the physician had engaged in a discussion in front
of Mary as to whether she needed an immediate operation or
not. Operation, then, and separation are seen to be the common
denominators: the actual operation on the finger, the anticipated
which
operation of the tonsils, and the mythical operation by
boys become girls; the separation from her mother during play-
school hours, and the estrangement from her father. At the end
of the first hour of play observation, then, this was the closest
we could come to meanings on which all of the play elements
and biographic data seemed to converge.
The antithesis of play disruption is play satiation, play from
which a child emerges refreshed as a sleeper from a dreamless
sleep. Both disruption and satiation
are very marked and very
clear only in rare cases. More often they are diffused and must
be ascertained by detailed study. But not so in Mary's case. Dur-
ing her second appointment she obliged me with as dramatic a
specimen of play satiation as she had previously demonstrated
of play disruption.
At first again smiles bashfully at me. Again she turns her
Mary
head away, holding on to her mother's hand and insisting that
the mother come with her into the room. Once in the room,
however, she lets her mother's hand go and, forgetting about
Toys and Reasons 241

the mother's and my presence, she begins to play animatedly

and with obvious determination and goal-mindedness. I quickly
close the door and motion the mother to sit down, because I
do not want to disturb the play.
Mary goes to the corner where the blocks are on the floor.
She selects two blocks and arranges them in such a way that she
can stand on them each time she comes to the corner to pick up
more blocks. Thus, play begins again with an extension of ex-
tremities, this time her feet. She now makes a collection of blocks
in the middle of the room, moving to the corner and back
without hesitation. Then she kneels on the floor and builds a
small house for a toy cow. For about a quarter of an hour she
is completely absorbed in the task of arranging the house so
that it is strictly rectangular and at the same time fits tightly

about the cow. She then adds five blocks to one long side of the
house and experiments with a sixth block until its position satisfies
her (see Figure 1).

FIGURE
mm.
This time, then, the dominant emotional note is peaceful play
concentration with a certain maternal quality of care and order.
There is no climax of excitement, and the play ends on a note
of satiation; she has built something, she likes it, now the play
isover. She gets up with a radiant smile which suddenly gives
place to a mischievous twinkle. Before I realize the mischief I
am about to fall victim to, I note that the close-fitting stable
looks like a hand with a sixth finger. At the same time it ex-
presses the "inclusive" mode, a female-protective configuration,
corresponding to the baskets and boxes and cradles arranged by
242 Erik H. Erikson

little and big girls to give comfort to small things. Thus we see
two restorations in one: The configuration puts the finger back
on the hand and the happily feminine pattern belies the "loss
from the genital region" previously dramatized. The second
hour's play thus accomplishes an expression of restoration and
safety and this concerning the same body parts (hand, genital
region) which in the play disruption of the first hour had ap-
peared endangered.
But, as I said, Mary suddenly looks teasingly at me, laughs,
takes her mother's hand and pulls her out of the room, saying
with determination, "Mommy, come out." I wait for a while,
then look out into the waiting room. A loud and triumphant,
"Thtay in there!" greets me. I strategically withdraw, where-
upon Mary closes the door with a bang. Two further attempts
on my part to leave my room are greeted in the same gay way.
She has me cornered.
There is nothing to do but to enter into the spirit of the
game. I open the door slightly, quickly push the toy cow through
the opening, make it squeak, and withdraw it. Mary is beside
herself with pleasure and insists that the game be repeated a
few times. She gets her wish, then it is time for her to go home.
When she leaves she looks triumphantly and yet affectionately
at me and promises to come back. I am left with the task of

figuring out what has happened.

From anxiety in the autosphere in the first hour, Mary had
now graduated to satiation in the microsphere and to triumph
in the macrosphere. She had taken the mother out of my space
and locked me into This game had as content: a man is teas-
it.

ingly locked into his room. It is only in connection with this

playful superiority that Mary had decided to talk to me, and this
in no uncertain terms. "Thtay in there!" were the first words
she had ever addressed to me! They were said clearly and in a
loud voice, as if something in her had waited for the moment
when she would be free enough to say them. What does that
mean?
I thinkwe have here an episode of "father transference." It
be remembered that from the moment Mary came into my
will
room at the beginning of the first contact she showed a some-
Toys and Reasons 243

what coquettish and bashful interest in me. Since it can be ex-

pected that she would transfer to me (the man with toys) a
conflict which disturbed her usually playful relationship with
her father, it seems more than probable that in this game she is
repeating with active mastery ("Thtay in there") and with some
reversal of vectors (out-in) the situation of exclusion of which
she has been a passive victim at home ("Stay out of here'*).
To some this may seem like a lot of complicated and devious
transformations for such a little girl. But here it is well to re-
alize that these matters are difficult for rational thinking only.
It would indeed be difficult to think
up such a play trick. It is
even difficult to recognize and analyze it. But it happens, of
course, unconsciously and automatically: here, never under-
estimate the power of the ego even of such a little girl.
This episode is presented to illustrate the self-curative trend
in spontaneous play; for play therapy and play diagnosis must
make systematic use of such self-curative processes. They may
help the child to help himself and they may help us to advise
the parents. Where this fails, more complicated methods of
treatment (child psychoanalysis) 2 must be initiated methods
which have not been discussed in this chapter. With advancing
age, prolonged conversation would take the place of play. Here,
however, it was my purpose to demonstrate that a few play hours
can serve to inform us of matters which the child could never
verbalize. Trained observers, in the possession of numerous data,
can see from a few play contacts which of these data are sub-
jectively relevant to the child, and why. In Mary's case, her play
disruption and her play satiation, if seen in the framework of
all the known circumstances, strongly suggests that a variety of
contemporaneous events had been incorporated into a system
of mutually aggravating items. In her play she restored her finger,
reassured herself, reaffirmed her femininity and told the big
man off. Such play peace gained must, however, be sustained by
the parents.
Mary's parents accepted (and partly themselves suggested)
the following recommendations. Mary's curiosity in regard to
2
Anna Freud, Psycho-Analytical Treatment of Children, Imago Publishing
Co., London, 1946.
744 Erik H. Erikson

both her scar and her genitals required a truthful attitude. She
needed to have other children, especially boys, visit her for play
at her home. The matter of the tonsils called for the decision of
a specialist, which could be candidly communicated to the child.
It did not seem wise to awaken and to restrain her during her
her dreams out, and
aightmares; perhaps she needed to fight
there would be opportunity to hold her lightly and to comfort
aer when she awoke spontaneously. The child needed much ac-
tivity; playful instruction
in rhythmic motion might relax some
of the rigidity in her extremities, which, whatever the initial
cause, may have been at least aggravated by fearful anticipation
since hearing for the first time about the secret amputation of
her finger.
When Mary, somewhat later, paid me a short visit, she was
entirely at home and asked me in
a clear, loud voice about the
color of the train I had taken on my vacation. It will be remem-
bered that she overturned a toy engine on the occasion of her
first visit: now
she could talk about engines. A
tonsillectomy had
proved unnecessary; the nightmares had ceased; Mary was mak-
ing free and extensive use of the new play companions provided
in and near her home. There was a revived play relationship with
her father. He had intuitively made the most of Mary's sudden

enraptured admiration for shining locomotives. He took her for

regular walks to the railroad yards where together they watched
the mighty engines.
Here the symbolism which has pervaded this clinical episode
gains a new dimension. In the despair of play disruption, the toy
engine apparently had a destructive meaning in some context
with phallic-locomotor anxiety: when Mary pushed it over, she
apparently had that awesome "Adam, where art thou" experi-
ence which we first observed in Ann. At the time, Mary's play
relationship to her father had been disrupted, and this (as she
could not know
or understand) because of his worries over a
possible disruption of his work status. This she seems to have
interpreted entirely iii terms of her maturational state and of her
changes in status: and yet her reaction was not unrelated to
the unconscious meaning implied in the father's actions. For
threatened loss of status, threatened marginality, often result in
Toys and Reasons 245

an unconscious attempt by more stringent self-control and by

purified standards to regain the ground lost or at least to keep
from slipping any further. This, 1 believe, made the father react
in a less tolerant way to the little girl's exploration, thus offend-

ing and frightening her in the general area which was already
disturbed. It was, then, this area which appeared in her play in
a condensed form, while she attempted, from the frightfulness of
isolation, to work her way back to playful mutuality.
Neither Mary's play nor the insight it provided could change
the father's economic worries. But the moment he recognized
the impact of his anxieties on his daughter's development, he
realized that from a long-range point of view her anxieties mat-
tered much more than the threatened change of his work status.
In fact, actual developments did not confirm his apprehensions.
The father's idea of taking walks to the engine yards was
felicitous. For now the real engines became symbols of power
shared by father and daughter alike and sustained by the whole
imagery of the machine culture in which this child is destined to
become a woman.
Thus at the end of any therapeutic encounter the parent must
sustain in a child what the adult patient must gain for himself:
a realignment with the images and the forces governing the cul-
turaldevelopment of his day, and from it an increased sense of
identity.
But here, at last, we must try to come to a better description
and definition of what we mean by identity.

The Beginnings of Identity

A. Play and milieu

A child who has just found himself able to walk, more oj

less coaxed or ignored by those around him, seems driven to
repeat the act for the pure enjoyment of functioning, and out
of the need to master and perfect a newly initiated function
But he also acts under the immediate awareness of the new status
and stature of "one who can walk," with whatever connotation
246 Erik H. Erikson

this happens to have in the co-ordinates of his culture's space-

time be it "one who will go far," "one who will be able to
stand on his own feet," "one who will be upright," or "one who
must be watched because he might go too far." The incorpora-
tion of a particular version of "one who can walk" into the ego
is one of the many steps in child development which (through
the coincident experience of physical mastery and of cultural
meaning, of functional pleasure and of social prestige) con-
tribute to a more realistic self-esteem. This self-esteem grows to
be a conviction that the ego learning effective steps toward
is

a tangible collective future, that it is developing into a defined

ego within a social reality. The growing child must, at every
step, derive a vitalizing sense of reality from the awareness that
his individual way of mastering experience (his ego synthesis) is
a successful variant of a group identity and is in accord with its
space-time and life plan.
In this children cannot be fooled by empty praise and con-
descending encouragement. They may have to accept artificial
bolstering of their self-esteem in lieu of something better, but
their ego identity gains real strength only from wholehearted and
consistent recognition of real accomplishment i.e., of achieve-

ment that has meaning in the culture. . . .

The study of contemporary neuroses, however, points to the
between child training and social reality.
significance of this lag
Neuroses contain, so we find, unconscious and futile attempts to
adjust to the heterogeneous present with the magic concepts of
a more homogeneous past, fragments of which are still trans-
mitted through child training. But mechanisms of adjustment
which once made for evolutionary adaptation, tribal integration,
caste coherence, national uniformity, etc., are at loose ends in
an industrial civilization.
No wonder, then, that some of our troubled children con-
stantly break out of their play into some damaging activity in
which they seem to us to "interfere" with our world; while
analysis reveals that they only wish to demonstrate their right
to find an identity in it. They refuse to become a specialty called

"child," who must play at being big because he is not given an

opportunity to be a small partner in a big world. . . .
Toys and Reasons 247

A number of opportunities to identify him-

child has quite a
self, more or experimentally, with habits, traits, occupations,
less
and ideas of real or fictitious people of either sex. Certain crises
force him to make radical selections. However, the historical
era in which he lives offers only a limited number of socially
meaningful models for workable combinations of identification
fragments. Their usefulness depends on the way in which they
simultaneously meet the requirements of the organism's matura-
tional stage and the ego's habits of synthesis. . . .

The desperate intensity of many a symptom, then, may be the

defense of a step in ego identity which to the child promises to
integrate the rapid changes taking place in all areas of his life*
What to the observer looks like an especially powerful manifes-
tation of naked instinct is often only a desperate plea for the
permission to synthesize and sublimate in the only way possible.
We can therefore expect our young patients to respond only
to therapeutic measures which will help them to acquire the
prerequisites for the successful completion of their ego identity.
Therapy and guidance may attempt to substitute more desirable
for less desirable items, but the total configuration of the ego
identity remains unalterable. It follows that therapy and guid-
ance by professionals are doomed to failure where the culture
(through the mother) refuses to provide an early basis for an
ego identity and where opportunities for appropriate later ad-
justments are missing.
 15

HARRY STACK SULLIVAN

Preadolescence*

Need for Interpersonal Intimacy

Just as the juvenile era was marked by a significant change

the development of the need for compeers, for playmates rather
like oneself the beginning of preadolescence is equally spectacu-
larly marked, in my scheme of development, by the appearance of
a new type of interest in another person. These changes are the
result of maturation and development, or experience. This new
interest in the preadolescent era is not as general as the use of

language toward others was in childhood, or the need of similar

people as playmates was in the juvenile era. Instead, it is a specific
new type of interest in a particular member of the same sex
who becomes a chum or a close friend. This change represents
the beginning of something very like full-blown, psychiatrically
defined love. In other words, the other fellow takes on a perfectly
novel relationship with the person concerned: he becomes of
practically equal importance in all fields of value. Nothing re-
motely like that has ever appeared before. All of you who have
children are sure that your children love you; when you say that,
you are expressing a pleasant illusion. But if you will look very

closely at one of your children when he finally finds a chum

somewhere between eight-and-a-half and ten you will discover
something very different in the relationship namely, that your

Reprinted by permission of the William Alanson White

* Psychiatric
Foundation and W. W. Norton & Co. from The Interpersonal Theory of
Psychiatry by Harry Stack Sullivan, edited by Helen Swick Perry
and Mary
Ladd Gawel. Copyright, 1953, by The William Alanson White Psychiatric
Foundation, Inc.
248
Preadolescence 249

child begins to develop a real sensitivity to what matters to

another person. And this is not in the sense of "what should I
do to get what I want," but instead "what should I do to con-
tribute to the happiness or to support the prestige and feeling
of worth-whileness of my chum." So far as I have ever been
able to discover, nothing remotely like this appears before the
age of, say, eight-and-a-half, and sometimes it appears decidedly
later.
Thus the developmental epoch of preadolescence is marked by
the coming of the integrating tendencies which, when they are
completely developed, we call love, or, to say it another way, by
the manifestation of the need for interpersonal intimacy. Now
even at this late stage in my formulation of these ideas, I still

find that some people imagine that intimacy is only a matter of

approximating genitals one to another. And so I trust that you
will finally and forever grasp that interpersonal intimacy can
really consist of a great many things without genital contact;
that intimacy in this sense means, just as it always has meant,
closeness, without specifying that which is close other than the
persons. Intimacy is that type of situation involving two people
which permits validation of all components of personal worth.
Validation of personal worth requires a type of relationship which
I call collaboration, by which I mean clearly formulated adjust-
ments of one's behavior to the expressed needs of the other
person in the pursuit of increasingly identical that is, more
and more nearly mutual satisfactions, and in the maintenance
of increasingly similar security operations. 1 Now this preadoles-
cent collaboration is distinctly different from the acquisition, in
the juvenile era, of habits of competition, cooperation, and com-
promise. In preadolescence not only do people occupy them-
selves in moving toward a common, more-or-less impersonal

objective, such as the success of "our team," or the discomfiture

1
[Editors' note: Sullivan's use
of the terms "collaboration" and "coopera-
tion" should be kept in mind throughout this section. By cooperation, he
means the usual give-and-take of the juvenile era; by collaboration, he means
the feeling of sensitivity to another person which appears in preadolescence.
"Collaboration ... is a great step forward from cooperation I play ac-
cording to the rules of the game, to preserve my prestige and feeling of
superiority and merit. When we collaborate, it is a matter of we." (Concep-
tions of Modern Psychiatry, p. 55.)]
250 Harry Stack Sullivan
of "our teacher," as they might have done in the juvenile era,
but they also, specifically and increasingly, move toward supply-
ing each other with satisfactions and taking on each other's suc-
cesses in the maintenance of prestige, status, and all the things
which represent freedom from anxiety, or the diminution of
2
anxiety.

Psychotherapeiitic Possibilities in Preadolescence

Because of the rapidly developing capacity to revise one's

personifications of another person on the basis of great interest
in observation and analysis of one's experience with him, it comes
about that the preadolescent phase of personality development
can have and often does have very great inherent psychothera-
peutic possibilities. I believe I have said earlier that it is at the
developmental thresholds that the chance for notable favorable
change tends to segregate itself. Although the structure of the
self-system is such that its development in general is rather
powerfully directed along the lines it has already taken, it is
much more subject to influence through new experience, either
fortunate or unfortunate, at each of the developmental thresh-
olds. The fact that the self-system can undergo distinct change

early in each of the developmental stages is of very real signifi-

cance. For it is the self-system the vast organization of experi-
ence which is concerned with protecting our self-esteem which
is involved in all inadequate and inappropriate living and is quite

central to the whole problem of personality disorder and its

remedy. And it is this capacity for distinct change in the self-

system which begins to be almost fantastically important in pre-

adolescence.
During the juvenile era a number of influences of vicious
family life may be attenuated or corrected. But in the Western

world a great deal of the activity of juveniles is along the lines

2
Upto this point, this chapter is taken from 1944-1945
[Editors' note:
lectures, rather than from the series on which this book is primarily based,
since this portion is missing in the latter series because of failures of record-
ing equipment. The material corresponds, however, to the outline in Sul-
livan's Notebook.]
Preadolescence 25 1

of our ideals of intensely competitive, invidious society; only

recently and, I fear, still quite insularly has there been any
marked social pressure toward developing the other aspects of
the same thing, the capacity to compromise and cooperate. Be-
cause of the competitive element, and also because of the ju-
venile's relative insensitivity to the importance of other people,

possible that one can maintain throughout the juvenile era

it is

remarkably fantastic ideas about oneself, that one can have a

very significantly distorted personification of the self, and keep
it under cover. To have a very fantastic personification of oneself
is, actually, to be very definitely handicapped. In other words,

it is a misfortune in development.
Because one draws so close to another, because one is newly
capable of seeing oneself through the other's eyes, the preado-
lescent phase of personality development is especially significant
in correcting autistic, fantastic ideas about oneself or others. I
would like to stress at the risk of using superlatives which
sometimes get very tedious that development of this phase of
personality is of incredible importance in saving a good many
rather seriously handicapped people from otherwise inevitable
serious mental disorder.
I mayperhaps digress to the extent of saying that for some
years have
I had no negative instance to the following generaliza-
tion: As a psychiatrist and a supervising psychiatrist, I have had
.occasion to hear about many male patients who find all relation-
ships with other men occasions for considerable tenseness and
vigilance, and who are uncomfortable in all their business, social,
or other dealings with other men; of this group, I have found
without exception that each one has lacked anything like good
opportunities for preadolescent socialization. (I am confining my
remarks to male patients here because the female picture is more
complicated and I have less material on it.) These male patients
may have what they call very close friends of the same sex, may
even be overt and promiscuous homosexuals; but they are not
at ease with strange men, they have much more trouble doing
business with other men than seems to be justified by the factual
aspects of the difficulty, and they are particularly uncertain as tc,
'what members of their own sex think of them. In other words, )
252 Harry Stack Sullivan
am practically convinced that capacity for ease, for maximum
profit from experience, in carrying on the conventional businesses
of life with members of one's own sex requires that one should
have been fortunate and profiting from relations
in entering into
with a chum in the preadolescent phase of personality develop-
ment.
It is self-evident, I suppose, that I am conspicuously taking
exception to the all-too-prevalent idea that things are pretty well
fixed in the Jesuitical first seven years. This idea has constituted
one of the greatest problems for some anthropologists who have
tried to translate psychiatric thought into anthropologically use-
ful ideas. The anthropologists have noised at them from all sides
the enormous importance of infantile experience meaning ex-
perience certainly under the age of eight. Yet one of the most
conspicuous observations of an anthropologist working anywhere
is that children of the privileged, who are raised by servants, do
not grow up to be like the servants. That is a little bit difficult
for an anthropologist to reconcile with the tremendous emphasis
on very early experience. My work has shown me very clearly
that, while early experience does a great many things as \ have
been trying to suggest thus far the development of capacity
for interpersonal relations is by no means a matter which is
completed at some point, say, in the juvenile era. Very far from
it.And even preadolescence, which is a very, very important
phase of personality development, is not the last phase.

FreadoIesceBt Society

Except in certain rural communities, there occurs in preado-

lescence the development of at least an approach to what has
long been called by sociologists "the gang." I am again speaking
rather exclusively of male preadolescents, because by this time
the deviations prescribed by the culture make it pretty hard to
make a long series of statements which are equally obviously
valid for the two sexes. The preadolescent interpersonal relation
is primarily, and vastly importantly, a two-group; but these two-
groups tend to interlock. In other words, let us say that persons
Preadolescence 253
A and B are chums. Person A also finds much that is admirable
about person C, and person B finds much that is admirable about
person D. And persons C and D each has his chum, so that there
is a certain linkage of interest among all of these
two-groups.
Quite often there will be one particular preadolescent who is,
thanks to his having been fortunate in earlier phases, the sort of
person that many of these preadolescent people find useful as a
model; and he will be the third member, you might say, of many
three-groups, composed of any one of a number of two-groups
and himself. At the same time, he may have a particular chum
just as everybody in this society may have. Thus these close two-
groups, which are extremely useful in correcting earlier devia-
tions, tend at the same time to interlock through one person or a
few people who are, in a very significant sense, leaders. And
incidentally, let me say that many of us are apt to think of
leadership in political terms, in terms of "influence" and the "in-
fluential." We overlook the fact that influence is exerted by the
influential in certain
conspicuous areas other than that of getting
people to do what the leader wants done. The fact is that a
very important field of leadership phenomena and one that
begins to be outstandingly important in preadolescence is
opinion leadership; and understanding this and developing tech-
niques for integrating it might be one of the few great hopes for
the future.
Thus some few people tend to come out in leadership positions
in preadolescent society. Some of them are the people who can

get the others to collaborate, to work with understanding and

appreciation of one another toward common objectives or aims,
which sometimes may be crimes, or what not. And others are
the leaders whose views gradually come to be the views of a large
number in the group, which is opinion leadership. This kind of
leadership has certain fairly measurable and perhaps some im-
ponderable aspects. One of its reasonably measurable aspects is
that people whose development, combined with their intellectual
abilities, has given them the ability to separate facts and opinions,
tend to be considered by the others as well informed, right in their
thinking about things of interest at that particular stage, and thus
tend to do the thinking for a good many of the others because
254 Harry Stack Sullivan
of the latter's unfortunate personality warp. And the time when
these leaders in opinion do the thinking almost exclusively is
when there are serious problems confronting the members of the
group. The level of general insecurity about the human future is
high at this stage of development, and in any case probably in-
creases when serious problems arise, whether they occur in the
preadolescent gang or in society as a whole. It is at those times
that perhaps far more than half of the statistical population

handicapped by lack of information, by lack of training, and by

various difficulties in personal life which call out a good deal of
anxiety,which in turn interferes with practically everything use-
ful has to look to opinion leadership for anything like reassur-
ing views or capable foresight. Thus an important part of the
preadolescent phase of personality development is the develop-
ing patterning of leadership-led relationships, which are so vital
in any social organization and which are, theoretically at least,
of very great importance in relatively democratic organizations
of society.
I have suggested that an important aspect of the preadolescent
phase is that, practically for the first time, there is consensual

validation of personal worth. Nowit is true that some children

are fortunate, indeed; through the influences to which they have

been subjected in the home and school, they are about as sure as
they can be that they are worth while in certain respects. But
very many people arrive in preadolescence in the sad state which
an adult would describe as "getting away with murder." In other
words, they have had to develop such remarkable capacities for
deceiving and misleading others that they never had a chance to
discover what they were really good for. But in this intimate inter-
change in preadolescence some preadolescents even have mu^
tual daydreams, spend hours and hours carrying on a sort of

spontaneous mythology in which both participate in this new

necessity for thinking of the other fellow as right and for being
thought of as right by the other fellow, much of this uncertainty
as to the real worth of the personality, and many self-deceptive
skills at deceiving others which exist in the juvenile era, may be
rectified by the improving communication of the chums and, to a
Preadolescence 255

much lesser extent but nonetheless valuably, by confirmatory re-

lations in the collaboration developed in the gang. ...

Disasters in Timing of Developmental Stages

Asthe preadolescent goes on toward the puberty change, the

effect of previous experience on rate of maturation becomes pe-
culiarly conspicuous. The time of the puberty change may vary
considerably from person to person in contrast to the time for
the convergence of the eyes in infancy, for instance, which can
be predicted almost exactly. This difference in time of puberty
maturation may occur partly because of certain biological and
hereditary factors; but I know, from considerable data, that fac-
tors of experience are also involved. Certain peculiarities of
earlier training are so extraordinarily frequent in cases of so-
called delayed puberty that one suspects that this training has
delayed the maturation of the lust dynamism.
literally
of the lamentable things which can happen to personality
One
in the preadolescent society is that a particular person may not
become preadolescent at all promptly in other words, he lit-
erally does not have the need for intimacy when most of the
people of about the same age have it, and therefore he does not
have an opportunity of being part of the parade as it goes by.
But then this person, when preadolescence is passing for most of
his contemporaries, develops a need for intimacy with someone
of his own sex and may be driven to establishing relationships
with a chronologically younger person. This is not necessarily
a great disaster. What is more of a disaster is that he may form
a preadolescent relationship with an actually adolescent person,
which is perhaps more frequently the case in this situation. This

does entail some very serious risk to personality and can, I think,
in quite a number of instances, be suspected of having consider-
able to do with the establishment of a homosexual way of life, or
at least a "bisexual" way. And, as I have already hinted, there

is definitely a possibility of going no further than preadolescence.

The fact that one can be preadolescent for perhaps two years
256 Harry Stack Sullivan

longer than others in one's particular group of young people is

nowadays frequent enough to be a study in itself. The number
of instances of schizophrenic disorder which are precipitated by
one of the chums getting well into adolescence while the other
remains preadolescent is, in my experience, notable.
If adolescence is delayed, it would not have any particular im-

portance, and might actually be somewhat advantageous, as long

as one were sure of having a reasonable number of equally de-

layed people with whom to maintain the type of intimacy which

characterizes preadolescence. It is only when chumships are
broken up, and the preadolescent society is disorganized by the
further maturation of nearly all the members, that great stress
may be applied to the personalities which are not able to move on
the same time schedule. Sometimes these people who are delayed
in puberty have a progression of chums from people of their own
age to younger ones, which is somewhat hard on the status of both
in the preadolescent organization, tending to exclude both from
what would normally be the society of the younger. I suppose the
best thing that can happen next to having a number of con-
freres who are also slow in maturing is to be able to take the

early stage of adolescence before one has really gotten to it,

which is sometimes possible; that is, the adolescent change means
a moving of an interest toward members of the other sex, but one
can often find an eccentric member of the other sex who also has
not undergone the puberty change, but is glad to go through the
motions. That reduces the stress on one's feeling of personal
worth and security which delayed adolescence may otherwise
bring. The delayed completion of the preadolescent phase of per-
sonality, together with a shift from the group with which the pre-
adolescent has been developing to marginal groups of adolescents,
is, I think, apt to be pretty hard on this younger person; that is,
he is, in a sense, the victim of marginal groups of adolescent

people, who are actually having plenty of trouble themselves and

who are apt to develop a very lively interest in sexual operations
with this preadolescent whose adolescence has been delayed. In
certain instances, at least, these operations are very costly to the

personality when finally the puberty change and the phases of

adolescence begin.
Preadolescence 257

In a given person, the beginning of adolescence, as far as per-

sonality development is concerned, takes place at an indefinite
time; that is, although it does not take place overnight, it is ob-
servable at the end of a matter of months, instead of years. Early
adolescence, in my scheme of development, is ushered in by the
beginning of the array of things called the puberty change, by the
frank appearance of the lust dynamism. And the frank appear-
ance of the lust dynamism is, in a great many instances, mani-
fested by the intrusion, into fantasy or the sleeplife, of experi-
ence of a piece with the sexual orgasm; in other instances, where
there has been preliminary genital play, and so on, it is manifested
by the occurrence of orgasm in certain play. Lust is the last to
mature of the important integrating tendencies, or needs for satis-
faction, which characterize the underlying human animal now
well advanced to being a person.
In our society, the age when early adolescence appears varies
within three or four years, I think. This remarkable develop-
mental discrepancy which is possible among different people of
the same chronological age a vastly greater discrepancy than
occurs in the maturing of any of the previously discussed needs
is one of the important factors which makes adolescence such a

time of stress. And incidentally, only by studying a different social

organization from ours could one see how much less a time of
stress the period of adolescence might be. In certain other socie-

ties,where the culture provides a great deal more real preparation

for adolescence than ours does, the extraordinarily stressful as-
pect of adolescence is not nearly so conspicuous. There are, how-
ever, certain elements of the puberty change and its associated
adolescent phase of personality organization that are not to be
overlooked in any social order; those are the ones associated with
the remarkable speeding up of certain growth factors which, for
example, makes people clumsy and awkward who were previously
quite skillfuland dexterous. Thus there are always, or almost
always, some stresses concerned with this very rapid maturation
of the somatic organization which is ushered in by the puberty
change. But so far as the psychological stresses are concerned,
they are more apt to result from disasters in timing than from
anything else.
258 Harry Stack Sullivan

The Experience of Loneliness 3

Before going on, I would like to discuss the developmental his-

tory of that motivational system which underlies the experience of
loneliness.
Now loneliness is possibly most distinguished, among the ex-
periences of human beings, by the toneless quality of the things
which are said about it. While I have tried to impress upon you
the extreme undesirability of the experience of anxiety, I, in com-
mon apparently with all denizens of the English-speaking world,
feelinadequate to communicate a really clear impression of the
experience of loneliness in its quintessential force. But I think I
can give you some idea of why it is a terribly important compo-
nent of personality, by tracing the various motivational systems
by developmental epochs that enter into the experience of loneli-
ness. Of the components which culminate in the experience of
real loneliness, the first, so far as I know, appears in infancy as

the need for contact. This is unquestionably composed of the

elaborate group of dependencies which characterize infancy, and
which can be collected under the need for tenderness. This kind
of need extends into childhood. And in childhood we see com-
ponents of what will ultimately be experienced as loneliness ap-
pearing in the need for adult participation in activities. These
activities start out perhaps in the form of expressive play in which
the very young child has to learn how to express emotions by suc-
cesses and failures in escaping anxiety or in increasing euphoria;
hi various kinds of manual play in which one learns coordination,
and so on; and finally in verbal play the pleasure-giving use of
the components of verbal speech which gradually move over into
the consensual validation of speech. In the juvenile era we see
components of what will eventually be loneliness in the need for
8 in the series of lectures which has been
[Editors* note: Several tJmes,
used as the basis for this book, Sullivan has made reference to a later dis-
cussion of loneliness. Yet this discussion does not appear in this particular
series, probably through an oversight. We
have therefore included here a
discussion of loneliness from a 1945 lecture.]
Preadolescence 259

compeers; and in the later phases of the juvenile era, we see it in

what I have not previously mentioned by this name, but what you

can all recognize from your remembered past, as the need for
acceptance. To put it another way, most of you have had, in the
juvenile era, an exceedingly bitter experience with your com-
peers to which the term "fear of ostracism" might be justifiably
applied the fear of being accepted by no one of those whom one
must have as how
models for learning to be human.
And in preadolescence we come to the final component of the
really intimidating experience of loneliness the need for in-
timate exchange with a fellow being, whom we may describe or
identify as a chum, a friend, or a loved one that is, the need for
the most intimate type of exchange with respect to satisfactions
and security.
Loneliness, as an experience which has been so terrible thai
it practically baffles clear recall, is a phenomenon ordinarily en-

countered only in preadolescence and afterward. But by giving

thisvery crude outline of the components that enter into this driv-
ing impulsion, I hope I have made it clear why, under continued
privation, the driving force of this system may integrate inter-
personal situations despite really severe anxiety. Although we
have not previously, in the course of this outline of the theory of
personality, touched on anything which can brush aside the activ-
ity of the self -system, we have now come to it: Under loneliness,
people seek companionship even though intensely anxious in the
performance. When, because of deprivations of companionship,
one does integrate a situation in spite of more or less intense
anxiety, one often shows, in the situation, evidences of a serious
defect of personal orientation. And remember that I am speaking
of orientation in living, not orientation in time and space, as the
traditional psychiatrists discuss it. I have already given my con-
ception of orientation in living in discussing the juvenile era. Now
this defective orientation may be due, for instance, to a primary
lack of experience which is needed for the correct appraisal of
the situation with respect to its significance, aside from its sig-
nificance as a relief of loneliness. There are a good many situa-
tions in which lonely people literally lack any experience wit>
things which they encounter. . . .
260 Harry Stack Sullivan
Loneliness reaches significance in the preadolescent era,
its full

and goes on relatively unchanged from thenceforth throughout

Anyone
life. who has experienced loneliness is glad to discuss
some vague abstract of this previous experience of loneliness. But
it is a very therapeutic performance to get anyone to
difficult

remember clearly how he felt and what he did when he was

horribly lonely. In other words, the fact that loneliness will lead
to integrations in the face of severe anxiety automatically means
that loneliness in itself is more terrible than anxiety. While we
show from the very beginning a curiously clear capacity for fear-
ing that which might be fatally injurious, and from very early
in lifean incredible sensitivity to significant people, only as we
reach the preadolescent stage of development does our profound
need for dealings with others reach such proportion that fear and
anxiety actually do not have the power to stop the stumbling out
9f restlessness into situations which constitute, in some measure,
a relief from loneliness. This is not manifest in anything like driv-
ing force until we arrive at the preadolescent era.
 16

HARRY STACK SULLIVAN

Early Adolescence*

The earlier phase of adolescence as a period of personality de-

velopment is defined as extending from the eruption of true geni-
tal interest, felt as lust, to the patterning of sexual behavior which

is the beginning of the last phase of adolescence. There are very

significant differences, in the physiological substrate connected
with the beginning of adolescence, between men and women; but
in either case there a rather abrupt change, relatively unparal-
is

leled in development, by which a zone of interaction with the en-

vironment which had been concerned with excreting waste be-
comes newly and rapidly significant as a zone of interaction in
physical interpersonal intimacy. In other words, what had been,
from the somatic viewpoint, the more external tissues of the
urinary-excretory zone now become the more external part of the

genital zone as well. The change, from the psychological stand-

point, pertains to new needs which have their culmination in the
experience of sexual orgasm; the felt tensions associated with this
need are traditionally and quite properly identified as lust. In
ether words, lust is the felt component of integrating tendencies
jertaining to the genital zone of interaction, seeking the satisfac-
i ion of cumulatively augmented sentience culminating in orgasm.
There is, so far as I know, no necessarily close relationship be-
tween lust, as an integrating tendency, and the need for intimacy,
which we have previously discussed, except that they both char-
Reprinted by permission of The William Alanson White
* Psychiatric
Foundation and W. W. Norton & Co. from The Interpersonal Theory of
Helen Swick Perry and Mary
Psychiatry by Harry Stack Sullivan, edited by
Ladd Gawel. Copyright, 1953, by The William Alanson White Psychiatric
Foundation, Inc.
262 Harry Stack Sullivan
acterize people at a certain stage in development. The two are
strikingly distinct. In fact, making very much sense of the com-
plexities and difficulties which are experienced in adolescence and
subsequent phases of life, depends, in considerable measure, on
the clarity with which one distinguishes three needs, which are
often very intricately combined and at the same time contradic-
tory. These are the need for personal security that is, for
freedom from anxiety; the need for intimacy that is, for col-
laboration with at least one other person; and the need for lustful
satisfaction, which is connected with genital activity in pursuit of
the orgasm.

The Shift in the Intimacy Need

As adolescence is ushered in, there is, in people who are not too
much warped for such a development, a change in the so-called
object of the need for intimacy. And the change is from what I
shall presently be discussing as an isophilic choice to what may be
called a heterophilic choice that is, it is a change from the seek-

ing of someone quite like oneself to the seeking of someone who

is in a very significant sense very different from oneself. This

change in choice is naturally influenced by the concomitant ap-

pearance of the genital drive. Thus, other things being equal and
no very serious warp or privation intervening, the change from
preadolescence to adolescence appears as a growing interest in
the possibilities of achieving some measure of intimacy with a
member of the other sex, rather after the pattern of the intimacy
that one has in preadolescence enjoyed with a member of one's
own sex.
The degree to which the need for intimacy is satisfied in this

heterophilic sense in the present-day American scene leaves very

much to be desired. The reason is not that the shift of interest
toward the other sex in itself makes intimacy difficult, but that
the cultural influences which are borne in upon each person in-
clude very little which prepares members of different sexes for
a fully human, simple, personal relationship together. greatA
many of the barriers to heterophilic intimacy go back to the
Early Adolescence 263

very beginnings of the Western world. Just to give a hint of what

I am talking about, I might mention the so-called double stand-
ard of morality and the legal status which surrounds illegitimate
birth. One can get an idea of the important influence of cultural
organization and cultural institutions on the possibilities of rela-
tionships in adolescence which are easy and, in terms of personal-
ity development, successful, by studying a culture very signifi-
cantly different from our own For some years I
in this respect.
have recommended in this connection Hortense Powdermaker's
1
Life in Lesu. There, the institutions bearing on the distinction
between the sexes are very significantly different from ours, and
the contrast between our institutions and theirs perhaps sheds
some light in itself on unfortunate aspects of the Western world.
But to return to our culture: The change in the need for in-
timacy the new awakening of curiosity in the boy as to how
he could get to be on as friendly terms with a girl as he has been
on with his churn is usually ushered in by a change of covert
process. Fantasy undergoes a rather striking modification a
modification almost as abrupt and striking as the sudden accelera-
tion of somatic growth which begins with the puberty change
and leads, for instance, to the awkwardness which I have men-
tioned. And there may also be a change of content in overt com-
municative processes, both in the two-group and in the gang. That
is, if the preadolescents are successfully progressing toward matu-

ration and uniformly free from personality warp, this interest in

members of the other sex also spreads into the area of communi-
cation between the chums, even though the one chum may not
be quite up to the other and may be somewhat opposed to this
new preoccupation with girls. In the more fortunate circum-
stances, this presently a gang-wise change, and those who are
is

approximately ready for it profit considerably from this last great

topic of preadolescent collaboration the topic of who's who and
what's what in the so-called heterosexual world. If the group in-
cludes some members whose development is delayed, the social
pressure in the group, in the gang, is extremely hard on their selt-
esteem and may lead to very serious disturbances of personality ,

1
[Hortense Powdermaker, Life in Lesu: l"he Study of a Melanesian Society
in New Ireland; New York: W. W. Norton & Co., Inc., 1933.]
264 Harry Stack Sullivan
indeed. As I have previously hinted, it is not uncommon for the
preadolescent phase to fade imperceptibly into the early adoles-
cent phase, and for gang-wise genital activity to become part of
the pattern of the very last stage of preadolescence or the verge
of adolescence. Thus one not uncommonly finds at this point
that the lust dynamism is actually functioning and governing a
good part of group activity, but this is very definitely oriented to
that which is to follow with members of the other sex.
In this change from preadolescence to adolescence, there has to
be a great deal of trial-and-error learning by human example. A
considerable number of those at the very beginning of adoles-
cence have some advantage in this learning by virtue of having
already acquired data from their observation of and experience
with a sibling of the other sex not very far removed from them
in developmental age; these data which had been previously un-

important are now rapidly activated.

I believe that according to conventional, statistical experience,
svomen undergo the puberty change somewhat hi advance of
men; in a great many instances, this leads to a peculiar sort of
stutter in developmental progress between the boys and the girls
in an age community so that by the time most of the boys have

gotten really around to interest in girls,most of the girls are al-

ready fairly well wound up in theirproblems about boys. From
the standpoint of personality development, it would be convenient
if these things were timed slightly better; but I suppose that in the

beginning when everything was arranged I've never had any

private information on the subject, by the way procreation was
fully as important as a feeling of self-esteem is now in a highly

developed civilization. And so women get ready for procreation

quite early; in fact one of the important problems of adolescence

is how to avoid the accident of procreation.

Various Collisions of Lust, Security, and

the Intimacy Need

After lust gets under way, it is extremely powerful. In fact, if

one overlooks his experience with loneliness, he may well think
Early Adolescence 265

that lustis the most powerful dynamism in interpersonal relations.

Since our culture provides us with singular handicaps for lustful

activity rather than with facilitation, lust promptly collides with
a whole variety of powerful dynamisms in personality. The most
ubiquitous collision is naturally the collision between one's lust
and one's security; and by security I mean one's feeling of self-
esteem and personal worth. Thus a great many people in early
adolescence suffer a lot of anxiety in connection with their new-
found motivation to sexual or genital activity and I use those
words interchangeably. Besides the puzzlement, embarrassment,
and so on, which the culture practically makes certain, there are
lamentably too many instances of people who already have a
rather profound warp with respect to the general area of the
body which is concerned. I have called this the primary genital
phobia, which is not entirely to be interpreted on the basis of the
usual ideas about phobia. By primary genital phobia I refer to an
enduring warp of personality which is often inculcated in late in-
fancy and early childhood and practically converts that area of
the body into something not quite of the body. In discussing the
excretory function and the exploratory power of the hand, I have
commented on the incredible efforts made by certain parents to
keep the young child from handling the genitals, from exploring
and getting sensations from them. In cases in which this is suc-
cessful, that area of the body becomes distinctly related to that
area of personality to which I long since referred as the not-me. It
is almost impossible for the adolescent who has this type of warp

to arrive at any simple and, shall I say, conventional type of learn-

ing of what to do with lust. Therefore, as that person becomes
lustful, he has the energy of the genital dynamism added to loneli-
ness and other causes for restlessness; thus his activity with others
becomes comparatively pointless, which almost certainly is hu-
miliating and is not a contribution to his self-esteem. Or he may
actually have some fairly serious disturbance of personality be-
cause of the outstanding power of the lust dynamism and the
comparative hopelessness of learning how he, in particular, can
do anything about it. Thus a person in this era may know a good

deal about what other people do, but if he finds he can't do it

himself, he doesn't feel quite up to the average.
266 Harry Stack Sullivan
Not only does with the need for security, but the
lust collide
shift in the intimacy need may also collide with the need for se-
curity. In early adolescence, the need for intimacy, for collabora-
tion with some very special other person, reaches out toward, and
tends to settle on, a member of the other sex. Now the ways in
which this may collide with self-esteem are numerous, but there
are a few particular instances that I want to bring to your atten-
tion. Quite often we discover that the young reach adolescence
very much to the discontent of their elders in the home. In those
situations it is not uncommon to find that there has been no seri-
ous taboo by the family group against the development of a chum
relationship or even against membership in a gang; but now as
the interest begins to move toward members of the other sex,
there does begin to be strong repressive influence brought to bear
on the adolescent by the family group.
One of the most potent instruments used in this particular is
ridicule; many an adolescent has been ridiculed practically into
very severe anxiety by parents who just do not want him to be-
come, as they think of it, an adult interested in such things as
sex, whica may get him diseased or what not, or may result in
marriage and his leaving home. Ridicule from parents and other
eldeis is among the worst tools that are used on early adolescents.
Sometimes a modification of ridicule is used by parents who are
either too decent to use ridicule or are unaware of its remarkable

power; and this modification takes the form of interfering with,

objecting to, criticizing, and otherwise getting in the way of any
detectable movement of their child toward a member of the other
sex. This can go to the point of being a pathological performance
which we call jealousy, in which the parent literally gets in-
credibly wrapped up in the rudimentary two-group that the ado-
lescent is trying to establish with some member of the opposite
sex. We will touch on jealousy again when we get around to dis-

cussing the particular group of difficulties in living which are

called paranoid states. It should merely be noted at this point
that jealousy is invariably a matter of more than two people, and
that very often everyone concerned in jealousy is pretty fantastic
- -that is, there are a great many parataxic processes mixed up in
ii- Sometimes the third person concerned is purely a parataxic de-
Early Adolescence 267

lusion on the part of the jealous person. So much for merely a few
high spots on the type of collisions between the feeling of per-
sonal worth and the change in the direction of the need for
intimacy.
There are also collisions between the intimacy need and lust. In
establishing collaborative intimacy with someone, four varieties
of awkwardnesses are common, of which the first three embar-
rassment, diffidences, and excessive precautions make up one
group. The fourth represents one of our magic tricks of swinging
to the other extreme to get away from something that doesn't
work, which I call the not technique. In other words, you know
what an apple is, and if you were under pressure enough you
could produce an imaginary truth, not apple, made up entirely of
the absence-of-apple characteristics. Thus, one of the ways of at-
tempting to solve this collision between the intimacy need and
lust isby something which is about the opposite of diffidence
namely, the development of a very bold approach in the pursuit of
the genital objective. But the approach is so poorly addressed to
the sensitivities and insecurities of the object that the object is in
turn embarrassed and made diffident; and so it overreaches and
has the effect of making the integration of real intimacy quite
improbable.
A much more common evidence of the collision of these two
powerful motivational systems is seen among adolescents in this
culture as the segregation of object persons, which is in itself
an extremely unfortunate way of growing up. By this I refer to
the creating of distinctions between people toward whom lustful
motivations can apply, and people who will be sought for the
relief of loneliness that is, for collaborative intimacy, for friend-
The classical instance is the old one of the prostitute and
ship.
the good girl. The prostitute is the only woman who is to be-
thought of for genital contact; the good girl is never to be thought
of in that connection, but only for friendship and for a somewhat
nebulous future state referred to as marriage. When this segrega-
tion has been quite nebulous state takes on a purely
striking, this
fantastic character.Nowadays, the far more prevalent distinction
is between sexy girls and good girls, rather than this gross divi-

sion into bad and good women. But no matter how it comes about
268 Harry Stack Sullivan

that the other sex is cut into two groups one of which can
satisfy a person's loneliness and spare him anxiety, while the other
satisfies his lust the trouble with this is that lust is a part of per-
far at completing his per-
sonality, and no one can get very
one's lust must
sonality development in this way. Thus satisfying
be at considerable to one's self-esteem, since the bad
expense
girls are unworthy and not really people in the sense that good
are. So wherever you find a person who makes
this sharp
girls
members of the other sex into those who are, you
separation of
might say, lustful and those who are nonlustful, you may assume
that this person has quite a cleavage with respect to his genital
behavior, so that he is not really capable
of integrating it into his

life,simply and with self-respect.

These sundry collisions that come along at this stage may be
the principal motives for preadolescents or very early adolescents
getting into "homosexual" play,
with some remarkable variations.
But a much more common outcome of these various collisions
these difficulties in developing activity to suit one's needs is the

breaking out of a great deal of autosexual behavior, in which one

satisfies one's own lust as best one can; this behavior appears be-
cause of the way in which preadolescent society breaks up, and
because of the various inhibitions which have been inculcated on
the subject of freedom regarding the genitals. Now this activity,
commonly called masturbation, has in general been rather se-
condemned in every culture that generally imposes marked
verely
restrictionson freedom of sexual development. That's very neat,
you see; it that adolescence is going to be hell whatever
means
you do, unless you have wonderful preparation for being different
from everyone else in which case you may get into trouble for
being different.
Incidentally, problems of masturbation are sufficiently com-
mon, even among the wise, so that a word might be said here re-
garding what seems to be a sound psychiatric view of the matter.
The question sometimes arises as to whether masturbation is good
or bad. Now whenever a psychiatrist is confronted by such a
question, he may well take it under advisement to see whether he
can reformulate it into a question that he can, as a psychiatrist,
deal with; psychiatrists don't dispense these absolute qualifications
Early Adolescence 269

of good or bad. The nearest we can approach such values is to

decide whether a thing is better or worse in terms of the interper-
sonal present and near future. From this approach, one can note
that in this culture the developmental progress in connection with
the adolescent change is handicapped by both lack of preparation
and absolute taboos on certain freedoms; but lust combined with
the need for intimacy frequently does drive the victim toward cor-
recting certain warps in personality and toward developing cer-
tain facilities, certain abilities, in interpersonal relations. There is
no way that I know of by which one can, all by oneself, satisfy
the need for intimacy, cut off the full driving power of loneliness,
although loneliness can be manipulated or reduced to a certain
extent. But through autosexual performance one can prevent lust
from reaching tension sufficient to break down one's barriers. For
that reason, the entirely exclusive use of autoerotic procedures
can contribute to the prolongation of warp, which in turn con-
tributes to the continued handicap for life of the person con-
cerned. It is from this viewpoint alone that I would consider that
masturbation, as the only solution for the sundry collisions that
lust enters into, is worse than almost anything else that is not

definitely malevolent. Needless to say, such an argument becomes

meaningless if, as is so often the case in genital behavior, the

autoerotic performance is not fixed and exclusive but is incidental

or occasional. Arguments against masturbation based on anything
other than this particular reason seem to me to smack more of
unanalyzed prejudice on the part of the arguer than of good sense.

Fortune and Misfortune in Heterosexual

Experimentation

My next topic is the rather important one of the fortune and

misfortune which the early adolescent has in his experimentation
toward reaching a heterosexual type of experience. In the olden
days when I was distinctly more reckless than now, I thought that
a good many of the people I saw as mental patients would have
been luckier in their adolescence had they carried on their prelim-
inary heterosexual experimentation with a good-natured prosti-
270 Harry Stack Sullivan

tute that is, this would have been fortunate in comparison to

what actually had happened to them. Not that I regard prostitutes
as highly developed personalities of the other sex; but if they hap-
pen to be in the business of living off their participation in genital
sport and are friendly, they at least will know
a good deal about
the problems in this field that earlier adolescents encounter, and
will treat them with sympathy, understanding, and encourage-
ment; but unfortunately, a great many of these experiments are
conducted with people who are themselves badly, though differ-
ently, warped. The number of wretched experiences
connected
with adolescents' first heterosexual attempts is legion, and the

experiences are sometimes very expensive to further maturation

of personality. If there has been a lively lustful fantasy and little
or no overt behavior with respect to the genitals which inci-
dentally will tend very strongly to characterize everyone
who has
I have of then it is almost
this primarygenital phobia spoken
certain that on the verge of an actual genital contact, precocious
orgasm willoccur in the man; and this precocious orgasm sud-
denly wipes out the integration and just leaves
two people in a
practically meaningless situation although they had previously
made immense sense to each other. Such an occurrence reflects
very severely on the self-esteem of the man concerned
and
thereby initiates a still more unfortunate process which is apt to

appear as impotence. The recollection of so disastrous an occur-

rence, which has been in terms of anxiety pretty costly, is quite
apt to result in either of two outcomes: there may
be an over-
weening conviction that that's the way it's going to go, that one
just hasn't any ^virility," that one's manhood is deficient; or there

may be frantic attempts to prove otherwise, which, if they were

kept up long enough, would work Unless there has been some
genital activity, or unless the woman is quite expert
in reducing

the anxiety of the male, or even his sexual excitement, this pre-

cocious orgasm is very apt to be a man's introduction to hetero-

sexual life. Needless to say, it has about as much true significance
as drinking a glass of water that is, if one could accept it in

perfectlycalm and rational fashion, it would prove absolutely

it had occurred once, and one could subse-
nothing except that
quently see whether it was going to be typical behavior
or
Early Adolescence 27!

whether it was an accident. It usually isn't typical unless its effects

are disastrous, in which case it can be stamped in as a sort oi

morbid way of handling one's incapacity to integrate true lust-
ful situations, or as a channel for various other things which I
shall discuss presently.
In other instances in which there is a lack of experience and
considerable warp in the personalities concerned, lust may carry
things through to orgasm, usually of only one partner; but im-
mediately upon the satisfaction of the lust dynamism and the
disintegration of the situation as a lustful situation, the persons
concerned may become the prey of guilt, shame, aversion, or
revulsion for each other, or at least this may be true for one of the
people concerned. And this experience is not a particularly fortu-
nate addition to one's learning how to live in the world as it is,
A much less usual, but also unfortunate, event in this initial
experimentation if it has gone pretty well
in genital activity is that
itmay become a high-grade preoccupation. This is usually to be
understood on the general theory of preoccupation and is just as
morbid as any other preoccupation. Since lust has a peculiarly

strong biological basis, and, in some people, may be an ever re-

current and very driving force in early adolescence, this preoccu-
pation with lust can lead to serious deterioration of self-respect
because of the unpleasant situations one is driven into, because
of the disapproval one encounters, and because this type of pre-
occupation literally interferes with almost any commonplace way
of protecting one's self-esteem. A
great many people whose self-
esteem has been somewhat uncertain, depending on scholarship
only, find their standing as students rapidly declining as they
become completely preoccupied with the pursuit of lust objects.
Thus they become the prey of severe anxiety, since their only
distinction is now being knocked in half.
With truly distressing frequency, these sundry problems con-
nected with early adolescence cause the persons concerned to
turn to alcohol, one of the great mental-hygiene props in the cul-
ture,with unfortunate results. I sometimes think alcohol is, more
than any other human invention, the basis for the duration and
growth of the Western world. I am quite certain that no such
complex, wonderful, and troublesome organization of society
272 Harry Stack Sullivan

could have lasted long enough to become conspicuous if a great

number of its unhappy denizens did not have this remarkable
chemical compound with which to get relief from intolerable
with those prob-
problems of anxiety. But its capacity for dealing
lems naturally makes it a menace under certain circumstances,
as I scarcely think I need argue. Like a good many other props
which temporarily remedy but do not in any sense favorably
alter cultural it is costly, not to all, but to too
impossibilities,
many. A peculiarityof alcohol is that it interferes very promptly
with complex, refined referential operations, particularly those
that are recent that have not been deeply and extensively
involved in the whole business of living while it does not par-
ticularlydisturb the older and more essential dynamisms of per-
sonality. It definitely poisons the self-system progressively, begin-
ning with the most recent and most complex of the self-system's
functions. So personality under alcohol is less competent at pro-
from anxiety, but practically all the anxiety is experi-
tecting itself
enced later, retrospectively. Since the self-function, which is, of
course, very intimately connected with the occurrence of anxiety,
isinhibited and disturbed by alcohol, but one's later recall is not,
one experiences the anxiety in retrospect, you see. And the prob-
lems that get one all too dependent on alcohol are, I think, the
problems of sexual adjustment, which hit hardest in early ado-
lescence.

The Separation of Lust from Intimacy

I want next to discuss misfortunes of development in early

adolescence in which there is, as the outstanding characteristic,
a separation of those interpersonal relations motivated by lust
from those based on the need for intimacy that is, motivated by
loneliness. This sharp division is merely a very much more exten-
sive and enduring deviation of personality than the kind of clas-
sification of heterophilic objects for example, into good women
and bad women which I previously mentioned. The need for in-
timacy has been gradually developing along its own lines from
very ancient roots, while lust has only recently and vividly
Early Adolescence 273

appeared. The complex outcomes of these developmental inter-

personal relations which are scarcely parallel and are actually di-
vergent are a very rich source for problems which concern the
psychiatrist. Some people are unfortunate enough to sublimate, as
we still have to call it, their lust that is, to partially satisfy it

while connecting with socially acceptable goals. This is, as I

it

would again like to remind you, an extremely dangerous over-

loading of possibilities, which is very apt to collapse in a lament-
able way. I am postponing a discussion of what happens to lust
under these circumstances. But the intimacy need sometimes
shows itself as follows: A member of the other sex who is in a
good many ways like the parent of that sex may become invested
with full-fledged "love" and devotion. Another, not so striking
instance, is the pseudo-sibling relation. There are, of course,
many jokes in the culture about the girl who is willing to be a
sister to wonder if you realize how many unfortunate
you. But I
early adolescents getby with the appearance of personality de-
velopment by striking up one of these pseudo-sibling relation-
ships, which can be mistaken by others for a satisfactory move
toward developing a solution for the problems of lust and loneli-
ness. Another change of this kind is, we might say, a prolonga-
tion and refinement of the separation of good and bad girls: All
women are good too good; they are noble, and one cannot
approach them for anything so something-or-other as genital
satisfaction. And there is the alternative of that, in which all
women are regarded as extremely unattractive, unsuited to any-
thing but a particular kind of hateful entanglement which be-
comes practically official business.
In the process of trying to separate one's need for intimacy
from one's need for genital integration, certain peculiarities of

personality appear which we will later discuss as dissociation,

Among the people with these peculiarities of personality pertain-
ing to the need for intimacy, there is the one who feels pursued
by the other sex and actually spends a lot of time in trying to
avoid being hounded by the other sex. There is also the true
woman-hater that is, the man who literally feels the most strenu-
ous antipathy to any but the most superficial relation with mem-
bers of the other sex. When lust is dissociated and components
274 Harry Stack Sullivan

in lust are quite frequently dissociated such things occur, even

from early adolescence, as the celibate way of life, in some cases
with accessible lustful fantasies, and in other cases with no repre-
sentation of lustful needs in awareness. This latter can go so far
that actually there are no recollections of any content connected
with what must have been the satisfaction of lust in sleep; in other
words, there are nocturnal orgasms, but there is never any recol-
lectable content at all. When one encounters that sort of thing,
one thinks immediately that something has gone very radically
wrong with the personality. Another manifestation in this field is
what I call, in terms of a man's viewpoint, horror of the female
genitals; even though the man considers that women are all right,
and in fact, in many instances, may make a very good approach
to them, the actual attempt at a physical intergenital situation
causes the man to be overcome with a feeling which is literally
quite paralyzing. As I have already hinted,
all
uncanny, which is

these uncanny feelings refer to the not-me, and are, by this stage
of personality, practically always signs that there is serious dis-
sociation somewhere in personality. Another solution of this kind
is to fall homosexual way of getting rid of lust; this is
into a

accompanied by liking, by indifference, or by aversion

either
toward the partner, or by revulsion or by fascination for the
whole type of situation.
In this special group of disturbances of development, there are
also the instances in which the genital drive is discharged with
infrahuman or nearly infrahuman participation that is, some of
the lower animals are used as genital partners, or people are used
whom the person has so much prejudice against that he scarcely
considers them to be human. Very occasionally human ingenuity
leads people who suffer from primitive genital phobia to invent
what are called masturbating machines. This is a phenomenon
that gets a good deal of attention, more than it deserves, and is,

supposedly, very interestingly connected with paranoid states. As

a matter of fact, it does coincide more than occasionally with
later paranoid states, but this relation has been vastly overac-
centuated.
 Character

The study of character is the contemporary successor to the study

of symptoms in Freud's time. It was soon realized that symptoms
were more than discrete examples of aberrant behavior; they were
the results of the failure to maintain the organization of the rela-
modes of reaction which we call character.
tively fixed
Freud was the first to point out character traits. He categorized
them as "unchanged perpetuations of instinctual impulses, reac-
tions against them, or sublimations of them." The implication
that there is a direct relationship between infantile experience and
adult character according to one or all of the three mechanisms
quoted above persists in Freudian theory, Adler, one of the early
deviants, emphasizes the importance of drives directed toward
goals in the development of character.
The contemporary selections given in this section demonstrate
what some of the leading thinkers in the fieldconsider important
in the development of character types, without minimizing
the importance of infancy and early childhood. These workers do
not agree with the mechanisms postulated by Freud. In their
views, the individual achieves this relatively fixed constellation of
character traits on the basis of his adaptation to all of life's expe-

riences, rather than on the way in which he handled conflicts

arising at one or another libidinal state.
 17

SIGMUND FREUD
Character and Anal Erotism*

Among those whom one tries to help by means of psycho-

analytic treatment, one very often meets with a type of character
in which certain traits are strongly marked, while at the same
time one's attention is arrested by the behaviour of these persons
in regard to a certain bodily function and of the organ connected
with during their childhood. I can no longer say on what pre-
it

cise occasions I first received the impression that a systematic

relationship exists between this type of character and the activities

of this organ, but I can assure the reader that no theoretical an-
ticipations of mine played any part in its production.
My belief in such a relationship has been so much strengthened

by accumulated experience that I venture to make it the subject

of a communication.
The persons whom I am about to describe are remarkable for
a regular combination of the three following peculiarities: they
are exceptionally orderly, parsimonious, and obstinate. Each of
these words really covers a small group or series of traits which
are related to one another. "Orderly" comprises both bodily
cleanliness and reliability and conscientiousness in the perform-
ance of petty duties: the opposite of it would be "untidy" and
"negligent." "Parsimony" may be exaggerated up to the point of
avarice; and obstinacy may amount to defiance, with which irasci-
bility and vindictiveness may easily be associated. The two latter

* the Psychiarrisch-Neurologisdhe Wochenschrift, Bd.

in
First published
IX., 1908; reprinted in Samm/ung, Zweite Folge. Reprinted here by per-
mission of The Hogarth Press Ltd. from Freud's Collected Papers, Volume 2
(The International Psycho-Analytical Library, No, 8). Translated by R. C.
McWatters.
277
278 Sigmund Freud

qualities parsimony and obstinacy hang together more closely

third, orderliness; they are, too, the more constant
than the ele-

ment in the whole complex. It seems to me, however, incon-

testable that all three in some way belong together.
From the history of the early childhood of these persons one
easily learns that they took a long time to
overcome the infantile
incontinentia alvi, and that even in later childhood they had to
complain of isolated accidents relating to this function.
As infants
they seem to have been among those who refuse to empty the
bowel when placed on the chamber, because they derive an inci-
1
dental pleasure from the act of defecation; for they assert that
even in somewhat later years they have found a pleasure in hold-
ing back their stools, and they remember, though
more readily
of their brothers and sisters than of themselves, all sorts of un-

seemly performances with the stools when passed. From these

indications infer that the erotogenic significance of the anal
we
zone is intensified in the innate sexual constitution of these per-
sons; but since none of these weaknesses and peculiarities
are to
be found in them once childhood has been passed, we must con-
clude that the anal zone has lost its erotogenic significance in the
course of their development, and that the constant appearance of
this triad of peculiarities in their character may be brought into
relation with the disappearance of their anal erotism.
I know that no one feels inclined to accept a proposition which

appears unintelligible, and for which no explanation

can be
offered, but we can find the basis of such an explanation in the
postulates I have formulated in my
Drei Abhandlungen zur Sex-
ualtheorie. I there attempt to show that the sexual instinct of
man is very complex and is made up of contributions from nu-
merous components and partial impulses. The peripheral stimula-
tion of certain specialized parts (genitals, mouth, anus, urethra),
which may be called erotogenic zones, furnishes important con-
tributions to the production of sexual excitation, but the fate of
the stimuli arising in these areas varies according to their source
and according to the age of the person concerned. Generally

speaking, only a part of them finds a place in the sexual life;

another part is deflected from a sexual aim and is directed to

1 Cf. Freud, Drei Abhandlungen zur Sexualtheorie, 1905.

Character and Anal Erotism 279

other purposes, a process which may be called sublimation. Dur-

ing the period of life which may be distinguished as the "sexual
latency period," i.e. from the end of the fourth year to the first
manifestations of puberty at about eleven, reaction-formations,
such as shame, disgust, and morality, are formed in the mental
economy at the expense of the excitations proceeding from the
erotogenic zones, and these leaction-formations erect themselves
as barriers against the later activity of the sexual instinct. Now
anal erotism is one of those components of the instinct which iu
the course of evolution and in accordance with our present civiliz-
ing education has become useless for sexual aims: it would therev
fore beno very surprising result if these traits of orderliness, par*
simony, and obstinacy, which are so prominent in persons who
were formerly anal erotics, turned out to be the first and most
constant results of the sublimation of anal erotism. 2
3
Since it is just these remarks about the anal erotism of infants in my
three contributions to the sexual theory that have most scandalized uncom-
prehending readers, I venture to insert here an observation which I owe to
a very intelligent patient. "An acquaintance of mine who has read the Drei
Abhandlungen zur Sexualtheorie was talking about the book and said he fully
accepted but one passage though naturally he also accepts and under-
it,

stands appeared to him so grotesque and comic that he sat down and
it

laughed over it tor a quarter of an hour. This passage runs: 'It is one of
the best signs of later eccentricity or nervousness if an infant obstinately
refuses to empty its bowel when placed on the chamber, that is, when the
nurse wishes, but withholds this function at his own pleasure. Naturally it
does not matter to the child if he soils his bed; his only concern is not to
lose the pleasure incidental to the act of defgecation.' The picture of this
infant sitting on the chamber and deliberating whether he should allow such
a limitation of his personal independence, and of his anxiety not to lose the
pleasure of defsecation, caused my friend the greatest merriment. Some twenty
minutes later, as we were sitting at tea, my acquaintance suddenly remarked
without any preliminary, "Do you know, there fust occurs to me, as I see the
cocoa in front of me, an idea thai I always had as a child. I then always
pretended to myself that I was the cocoa manufacturer Van Houten' (he
pronounced it 'Van Hauten'), 'that I possessed a great secret for the prep-
aration of this cocoa, and that all the world was trying to get this valuable
secret from me, but that I carefully kept it to myself. Why it was Van
Houten that I hit upon I do not know. Probably it was that his advertise-
ments made the greatest impression on me.' Laughing, and without thinking
much about the meaning of my words, I replied, 'Warm haut'n (Van
Houten) die Mutter?* [When do mothers smack?] It was only later that I
realized that my pun really contained the key to the whole of his sudden
recollection from childhood, which I now recognized as a striking example of
a screen-phantasy, setting at rest the sense of guilt by means of a complete
reversal of the value of its memory content, while ft retained its reference to
280 Sigmund Freud

The inherent necessity of this relationship is naturally not clear

even to myself, but I can make some suggestions which help
towards an understanding of it. The cleanliness, orderliness, and
reliability give exactly the impression of
a reaction-formation

against an interest in things that are

unclean and intrusive and
ought not to be on the body ("Dirt is matter in the wrong
place"). To bring obstinacy into relation with interest in defeca-
tion seems no easy task, but it should be remembered that infants
can very early behave with great self-will about parting with their
stools (see above), and that painful stimuli to the skin of the but-
tocks (which is connected with the anal erotogenic zone) are
an instrument in the education of the child designed to break
his self-will and make him submissive. As an expression of de-
fiance or of defiant mockery, a challenge referring to a caress on
this part of the body is used even at the present day, as in former
times that is, it represents a tender feeling which has undergone
repression. An
exposure of the buttocks corresponds to the
reduc-

tion of this speech to a gesture; in Goethe's Gotz von Berlichm-

gen we find both speech and gesture introduced most appropri-
ately as expression of defiance.
The connections which exist between the two complexes of
money and of defalcation, which seem so dissimilar,
interest in

appear to be the most far-reaching. It is well known

to every

physician who has used psycho-analysis that the most refractory

and obdurate cases of so-called chronic constipation in neurotics
can be cured by this means. This is less surprising if we remem-
ber that this function has shown itself equally amenable to hyp-
notic suggestion. But in psycho-analysis one only attains this
result when one deals with the money complex of the persons con-
actual experience (the nutritional process) and was supported by a phonetic
association: 'cocoa* Wann liautV (Van Houten). (Displacement from
behind forwards; excrement becomes aliment; the shameful substance which
has to be concealed turns into a secret which enriches the world.) It was
interesting to me how in this case, after a defense-reaction, which to
be sure
took the comparatively mild form of a merely formal objection, the most
own unconscious after a
striking evidence was supplied from the subject's
quarter of an hour without any effort on his part."
[Besides
the
pun on the word Van Houten, there is probably a further
association between the German for cocoa (Kakao) and for the nursery term
tor fseces in that language, KaJa's. Compare also the English caca for faeces.
Trans. J
Character and Anal Erotism 281

cerned, and induces them to bring it into consciousness with all

its connections. One might suppose that the neurosis is here only

following a hint from common speech which calls a person who

keeps too careful a hold on his money "dirty" or "filthy," but this
would be far too an explanation. In reality, wherever
superficial
archaic modes of thought predominate or have persisted in
ancient civilizations, m
myth, fairy-tale and superstition, in
unconscious thoughts and dreams, and in the neuroses money
comes into the closest relation with excrement. We know how
the money which the devil gives his paramours turns to excre-
ment after his departure, and the devil is most certainly nothing
more than a personification of the unconscious instinctual forces. 3
The superstition, too, which associates the finding of treasure
with defalcation is well known, and everyone is familiar with the
4 Even in
figure of the "excretor of ducats" (Dukatenscheisser) .

the early Babylon cult gold "the excrement of Hell," Mammon

is
= ilu manman. 5 Thus in following common speech, the neurosis,
here as elsewhere, takes the words in their original most signifi-
cant sense, and wherever it appears to express a word figuratively
itusually only reproduces its original meaning.
It is possible that the contrast between the most precious sub-

stance known to man and the most worthless, which he rejects

as "something thrown out," has contributed to this identification
of gold with faeces.
Yet another circumstance facilitates this equivalence in the
mental processes involved in neurosis. The original erotic interest
in defalcation is, as we know, destined to be extinguished in
later years; it is in these years that the interest in money is making
itsappearance as something new which was unknown in child-
hood. This makes it easier for the earlier impulse, which is in
process of relinquishing its aim, to be carried over to the new one.
8
Compare hysterical possession and demoniac epidemics.
*
[Unfamiliar to English readers, but compare "the goose which lays golden
eggs.'* Trans.]
5
Jeremias, Das AIre Testament irn Lichte des alten Orients, 1906, p. 216,.
and Babylonisches fm Neuen Testament, 1906, p. 96. "Mammon is Babylonian
'Manman/ another name of Nergal, the god of the underworld. According
to an Oriental myth which has passed over into sagas and folk-tales, gold is
the excrement of hell; see Monotheistische Stromungen innerhalb der baby-
Jonfschen Religion, S. 16, Anmk. i."
282 Sigmund Freud
If there is any reality in the relation described here between
anal erotism and this triad of character-traits, one may expect to
find but little of the "anal character" in persons who have re-
tained the erotogenic quality of the anal zone into adult life, as
for example certain homosexuals. Unless I am greatly mistaken
experience on the whole is fully in accord with this anticipation.
One ought to consider whether other types of character do not
also show a connection with the
excitability of particular eroto-
genic zones. As yet I am aware only of the intense, "burning"
ambition of those who formerly suffered from enuresis. At any
rate, one can give a formula for the formation of the ultimate
character from the constituent character-traits: the permanent
character- traits are either unchanged perpetuations of the original
impulses, sublimations of them, or reaction-formations against
them.
 18

ALFRED ABLER

Individual Psychology, Its

4

Assumptions and Its Results

A survey of the views and theories of most psychologists indicates

a peculiar limitation both in the nature of their field of investiga-
tion and in their methods of inquiry. They act as if experience
and knowledge of mankind were, with conscious intent, to be
excluded from our investigations and all value and importance
denied to artistic and creative vision as well as to intuition itself.
While the experimental psychologists collect and devise phe-

nomena in order todetermine types of reaction that is, are con-

cerned with the physiology of the psychical life properly speaking
other psychologists arrange all forms of expression and mani-
festations in old customary, or at best slightly altered, systems.

By this procedure they naturally rediscover the interdependence

and connection in individual expressions, implied from the very

beginning in their schematic attitude toward the psyche.

Either the foregoing method is employed or an attempt is made
by means of small, if possible measurable individual phenom-
ena of a physiological nature, to construct psychical states and
thought by means of an equation. The fact that
all subjective

thinking and subjective immersion on the part of the investigator

are excluded although in reality they dominate the very nature
of these connections is from this viewpoint regarded as an
advantage.
* Individual Psychology by
Reprinted from The Practice and Theory of
Ltd. and the Humanities Press Inc.
permission of Routledge and Kegan Paul
283
284 Alfred Adler

The method employed, and the very importance it seems to

possess as a preparation for the human mind, reminds us of the

type of natural science completely antiquated to-day, with
its

rigid systems, replaced everywhere

now by views that attempt to

grasp living phenomena and their variations as connected wholes,

is also the
biologically, philosophically, and psychologically. This
purpose of that movement in psychology that I have called "com-
parative individual-psychology." By starting with the assumption
of the unity of the individual, an attempt is made to obtain a pic-
ture of this unified personality regarded as a variant of individual
life-manifestations and forms of expression. The individual traits
are then compared with one another, brought into a common
plane, and finally fused together to form
a composite portrait that
1
is, in turn, individualized.

may have been noticed that this method of looking upon

It

man's psychic life is by no means either unusual or even particu-

larly daring. This type of approach is particularly noticeable in
the study of child-psychology, hi spite of other lines of inquiry
also used there. It is the essence and the nature above all of the
work of theartist, be he painter, sculptor, musician, or particu-

larly poet, so to present the minute traits of his creations that the
observer is able to obtain from them the general principles of per-
sonality. He is thus in a position to reconstruct
those very things
that the artist when thinking of his finale had previously hidden
therein. Since life in any given society, life without any of the pre-

conceptions of science, has always been under the ban of the

question "whither?", we are warranted in definitely stating that,
scientific views to the contrary notwithstanding, no man has ever
made a judgment about an event without endeavouring to strain
toward the point which seems to bind together all the psychic
manifestations of an individual; even to an imagined goal if

necessary.
When I hurry home, I am certain to exhibit to any observer
the carriage, expression, the gait, and the gestures that are to be
expected of a person returning home. My
reflexes indeed might
be different from those anticipated, the causes might vary. The
1
William Stern has come to the same conclusions starting from a different
method of approach.
Individual Psychology, Its Assumptions and Its Results 285

essential point to be grasped psychologically and the one which

and practically and psychologically more
interests us exclusively
than all the path followed.
others, is

Let me observe that if I know the goal of a person I know in

a general way what will happen. I am in a position to bring into
their proper order each of the successive movements made, to
view them in their connections, to correct them and to make,
where necessary, the required adaptations for my approximate
psychological knowledge of these associations. If I am acquainted
only with the causes, know only the reflexes, the reaction-times,
the ability to repeat and such facts, I am aware of nothing that
actually takes place in the soul of the man.
We must remember that the person under observation would
not know what to do with himself were he not orientated toward
some goal. As long as we are not acquainted with the objective
which determines his "life-line," the whole system of his recog-
nized reflexes, together with all their causal conditions, can give
us no certainty as to his next series of movements. They might be
brought into harmony with practically any psychic resultant. This
deficiencyis most clearly felt in association-tests. I would never

expect a man suffering from some great disappointment to associ-

ate "tree" with "rope." The moment I knew his objective, how-
ever, namely suicide, then I
might very well expect that particular
sequence of thoughts expect it with such certainty that I would
remove knives, poison, and weapons from his immediate vicinity.
If we look at the matter more closely, we shall find the follow-

ing law holding in the development of all psychic happenings: we

cannot think, feel, will, or act without the perception of some
goal. For all the causalities in the world would not suffice to con-
quer the chaos of the future nor obviate the planlessness to which
we would be bound to fall a victim. All activity would persist in
the stage of uncontrolled gropings; the economy visible in our
psychic life unattained; we should be unintegrated and in every
aspect of our physiognomy, in every personal touch, similar to
organisms of the rank of the amoeba.
No one will deny that by assuming an objective for our psychic
life we accommodate ourselves better to reality. This can be easily

demonstrated. For its truth in individual examples, where phe-

286 Alfred Adler

nomena are torn from their proper connections, no doubt exists.

Only watch, from this point of view, the attempts at walking
made by a small child or a woman recovering from a confine-
ment. Naturally he who approaches this whole matter without
any theory is likely to find its deeper significance escape him. Yet
it isa fact that before the first step has been taken the objective
of the person's movement has already been determined.
In the same way it can be demonstrated that all psychic activi-
ties are given a direction by means of a previously determined

goal. All the temporary and partially visible objectives, after the
short period of psychic development of childhood, are under the
domination of an imagined terminal goal, of a final point felt
and conceived of as definitely fixed. In other words the psychic
life of man is made to fit into the fifth act like a character drawn
by a good dramatist.
The conclusion thus to be drawn from the unbiased study of
any personality viewed from the standpoint of individual-psy-
chology leads us to the following important proposition: every
psychic phenomenon, if it is to give us any understanding of a
person, can only be grasped and understood if regarded as a
preparation for some goal.
To what an extent this conception promotes our psychological
understanding, is clearly apparent as soon as we become aware of
the multiplicity of meaning of those psychical processes that have
been torn from their proper context. Take for example the case
of a man with a "bad memory." Assume that he is quite con-
scious of this fact and that an examination discloses an inferior
capacity for the repetition of meaningless syllables. According to
present usage in psychology, which we might more properly call
an abuse, we would have to make the following inference: the
man is suffering, from hereditary or pathological causes, from
a deficient capacity for repetition. Incidentally, let me add, that
in this type of investigation we generally find the inference al-
ready stated in different words in the premises. In this case e.g.
we have the following proposition: if a man has a bad memory,
or if he only remembers a few words then he has an inferior
capacity for repetition.
The procedure in individual-psychology is completely different.
Individual Psychology, Its Assumptions and Its Results 287

After excluding the possibility of all organic causes, we would

ask ourselves what is the objective of this weakness of memory?
This we could only determine if we were in possession of an inti-
mate knowledge of the whole individual, so that an understand-
ing of one part becomes possible only after we have understood
the whole. And we
should probably find the following to hold true
in a large cases: this man is attempting to prove to
number of
himself and to others that for certain reasons of a fundamental
nature, that are either not to benamed or have remained uncon-
scious, but which can most effectively be represented by poorness
of memory, he must not permit himself to perform some par-
ticular act or to come to a given decision (change of profession,

studies, examination, marriage). We should then have unmasked

this weakness of memory as tendentious and could understand
itsimportance as a weapon against a contemplated undertaking.
In every test of ability to repeat we should then expect to find
the deficiency due to the secret life-plan of an individual. The
question then to be asked is how such deficiencies or evils arise.
They may be simply "arranged" by purposely underlining general
physiological weaknesses and interpreting them as personal suf-
ferings. Others may succeed either by subjective absorption into
an abnormal condition or by pre-occupation with dangerous pes-
simistic anticipations, in so weakening their faith in their own

capacities, that their strength, attention or will-power are only

partially at their disposal.
A similar observation may be made in the case of affects.

To give one more example, take the case of a woman subject to

outbreaks of anxiety recurring at certain intervals. As long as
nothing of greater significance than this was discernible, the as-

sumption of some hereditary degeneration, some disease of the

vaso-motor system, of the vagus nerve, etc., sufficed. It is also
possible that we might have regarded ourselves as having arrived
at a fuller understanding of the case, if we had discovered in
the previous history of the patient, some frightful experience,
or traumatic condition and attributed the disease to it. As soon,
however, as we examined the personality of this individual and
inquired into her directive-lines we discovered an excess of
will-to-power, with which anxiety as a weapon of aggression had
288 Alfred Adler

associated itself, an anxiety which was to become operative as

soon as the force of the will-power had abated and the desired
resonance was absent, a situation occurring, for example, when
the patient's husband left the house without her consent.
Our science demands a markedly individualizing procedure and
is consequently not much given to generalizations. For general

guidance I would like to propound the following rule: as soon

as the goal of a psychic movement or its life-plan has been recog-
nized, then -we are to assume that all the movements of its con-
stituent parts will coincide with both the goal and the life-plan.
This formulation, with some minor provisos, is to be main-
tained in the widest sense. It retains its value even if inverted:
the properly understood part-movements must -when combined,
give the picture of an integrated life-plan and final goal. Conse-
quently we insist that, without worrying about the tendencies,
milieu and experiences, all psychical powers are under the con-
trol of a directive idea and all expressions of emotion, feeling,

thinking, willing, acting, dreaming as well as psycho-pathological

phenomena, are permeated by one unified life-plan. Let me, by
a slight suggestion, prove and yet soften down these heretical

propositions: more important than tendencies, objective experi-

ence and milieu is the subjective evaluation, an evaluation which
stands furthermore in a certain, often strange, relation to realities.

Out of this evaluation, however, which generally results in the de-

velopment of a permanent mood of the nature of a feeling of
inferiority there arises, depending upon the unconscious technique
of our thought-apparatus, an imagined goal, an attempt at a
planned final compensation and a life-plan.
I have so far spoken a good deal of men who have "grasped
the situation." My discussion has been as irritating as that of the
theorists of the "psychology of understanding" or of the psy-

chology of personality, who always break off just when they are
about to show us what exactly it is they have understood, as for
instance, Jaspers. The danger of discussing briefly this aspect of
our investigations, namely, the results of individual-psychology,
is sufficiently great. To do so we should be compelled to force the

dynamics of life into static words and pictures, overlook differ-

ences in order to obtain unified formulas, and have, in short, in
Individual Psychology, Its Assumptions and Its Results 289

our description to make that very mistake that in practice is

strictly prohibited: of approaching the psychic life of the indi-
vidual with a dry formula, as the Freudian school attempt.
This then being my assumption, I shall in the following present
to you the most important our study of psychic life.
results of
Let me emphasize the fact that the dynamics of psychic life that
I am about to describe hold equally for healthy and diseased.

What distinguishes the nervous from the healthy individual is

the stronger safeguarding tendency with which the former's life-
plan is filled. With regard to the "positing of a goal" and the life-

plan adjusted to it there are no fundamental differences.

I shall consequently speak of a general goal of man. A
thorough-going study has taught us that we can best understand
the manifold and diverse movements of the psyche as soon as our
most general pre-suppositton, that the psyche has as its objective
the goal of superiority, is recognized. Great thinkers have given
expression to much of this; in part everyone knows it, but in the
main it is hidden in mysterious darkness and comes definitely
to the front only in insanity or in ecstatic conditions. Whether a

person desires to be an artist, the first in his profession, or a tyrant

in his home,to hold converse with God or humiliate other

people; whether he regards his suffering as the most important

thing in the world to which everyone must show obeisance,
whether he is chasing after unattainable ideas or old deities, over-
stepping all limits and norms, at every part of his way he is
guided and spurred on by his longing for superiority, the thought
of his godlikeness, the belief in his special magical power. In his
love he desires to experience his power over his partner. In his
purely optional choice of profession the goal floating before
his mind manifests itself in all sorts of exaggerated anticipations
and fears, and thirsting for revenge, he experiences in suicide a
triumph over all obstacles. In order to gain control over an object

or over a person, he is capable of proceeding along a straight line,

bravely, proudly, overbearing, obstinate, cruel; or he may on the
other hand prefer, forced by experience, to resort to by-paths and
circuitous routes, to gain his victory by obedience, submission,
mildness and modesty. Nor have traits of character an independ-
ent existence, for they are also adjusted to the individual life-plan,
290 Alfred Adler

really representing the most important preparations for conflict

possessed by the latter.
This goal of complete superiority, with its strange appearance
at times, does not come from the world of reality. Inherently
we must place it under "fictions" and "imaginations." Of these
Vaihinger (The Philosophy of "As If) rightly says that their
importance lies in the fact that whereas in themselves without
meaning, they nevertheless possess in practice the greatest im-
portance. For our case this coincides to such an extent that we
may say that this fiction of a goal of superiority so ridiculous
from the view-point of reality, has become the principal condi-
tioning factor of our life as hitherto known. It is this that teaches
us to differentiate, gives us poise and security, moulds and guides
our deeds and activities and forces our spirit to look ahead and
to perfect itself. There is of course also an obverse side, for this
goal introduces into our life a hostile and fighting tendency, robs
us of the simplicity of our feelings and is always the cause for an
estrangement from reality since it puts near to our hearts the idea
of attempting to over-power reality. Whoever takes this goal of
godlikeness seriously or literally, will soon be compelled to flee
from real life and compromise, by seeking a life within life; if
fortunate in art, but more generally in pietism, neurosis or crime. 2
I cannot give you particulars here. A clear indication of this
super-mundane goal is to be found in every individual. Sometimes
this is to be gathered from a man's carriage, sometimes it is dis-
closed only in his demands and expectations. Occasionally one
comes upon its track in obscure memories, phantasies and
dreams. If purposely sought it is rarely obtained. However, every
bodily or mental attitude indicates clearly its origin in a striving
for power and carries within itself the ideal of a kind of perfec-
tion and In those cases that lie on the confines of
infallibility.
neurosis there always to be discovered a reinforced pitting
is

of oneself against the environment, against the dead or heroes of

the past.
A test of the correctness of our interpretation can be easily
made. If everyone possesses within himself an ideal of superiority,
a
Cf. also "The Problem of Distance," in this volume [pp. 100-108 of The
Practice and Theoiy of Individual Psychology].
Individual Psychology, Its Assumptions and Its Results 291

such as we find to an exaggerated degree among the nervous, then

we ought to encounter phenomena whose purpose is the op-
pression, the minimizing and undervaluation of others. Traits of
character such as intolerance, dogmatism, envy, pleasure at the
misfortune of others, conceit, boastfulness, mistrust, avarice,
in short all those attitudes that are the substitutes for a struggle,
force their way through to a far greater extent, in fact, than self-
preservation demands.
Similarly, either simultaneously or interchangingly, depending
upon the zeal and the self-confidence with which the final goal
is sought, we see emerging indications of pride, emulation, cour*
age, the attitudes of saving, bestowing and directing. A
psycho-
logical investigation demands so much objectivity that a moral
evaluation will not disturb the survey. In fact the different levels
of character-traits actually neutralize our good-will and our dis-
approval. Finally we must remember that these hostile traits, par-
ticularly in the case of the nervous, are often so concealed that
their possessor is justifiably astonished and irritated when atten-
tion is drawn to them. For example, the elder of two children can
create quite an uncomfortable situation in trying to arrogate
to himself through defiance and obstinacy, all authority in the
family. The younger child pursues a wiser course, poses as a
model of obedience and succeeds in this manner in becoming the
idol of the family and in having all wishes gratified. As ambition

spurs hull on, all willingness to obey becomes destroyed and

pathological-compulsion phenomena develop, by means of which
every parental order is nullified even when the parents notice that
the child is making efforts to remain obedient. Thus we have an
act of obedience immediately nullified by means of a compulsion-
thought. We get an idea of the circuitous path taken here in order
to arrive at the same objective as that of the other child.
The whole weight of the personal striving for power and su-
periority passes, at a very early age in the case of the child, into
the form and the content of its striving, its thought being able to
absorb for the time being only so much as the eternal, real and
physiologically rooted community -feeling permits. Out of the lat-
ter are developed tenderness, love of neighbour, friendship and
love, the desire for power unfolding itself in a veiled manner and
292 Alfred Adler

seeking secretly to push its way along the path of group con-
sciousness.
At this place let me go out of my way to endorse an old funda-
mental conception of all who know human nature. Every marked
attitude of a man can be traced back to an origin in childhood.
In the nursery are formed and prepared all of man's future atti-
tudes. Fundamental changes are produced only by means of an
exceedingly high degree of introspection or among neurotics by
means of the physician's individual psychological analysis.
Let me, on the basis of another case, one which must have
happened innumerable times, discuss in even greater detail the
positing of goals by nervous people. A remarkably gifted man
who by and refined behaviour had gained the love
his amiability
of a girl of high character, became engaged to her. He then
forced upon her his ideal of education which made severe de-
mands upon her. For a time she endured these unbearable orders
but finally put an end to all further ordeals by breaking off rela-
tions. The man then broke down and became a prey to nervous
attacks. The individual-psychological examination of the case
showed that the superiority-goal in the case of this patient as
his domineering demands upon his bride indicated had long ago
pushed from his mind all thought of marriage, and that his object
reallywas to secretly work toward a break, secretly because he
did not feel himself equal to the open struggle in which he
imagined marriage to consist. This disbelief in himself itself
dated from his earliest childhood, to a time during which he, an
only son, lived with an early widowed mother somewhat cut off
from the world. During this period, spent in continuous family
quarrels he had received the ineradicable impression, one he had
never openly admitted to himself, that he was not sufficiently
virile, and would never be able to cope with a woman. These

psychical attitudes are comparable to a permanent inferiority-

feeling and it is easily understood how they had decisively inter-
fered in his life and compelled him to obtain prestige along other
lines than those obtainable through the fulfilment of the demands
,of reality.
It is clear that the patient attained just what his concealed
Individual Psychology, Its Assumptions and Its Results 293

preparations for bachelordom aimed at, and what his fear of a

life-partner, with the quarrels and restless relationship this im-
plied, had awakened in him. Nor can it be denied that he took'
the same attitude toward both his bride and his mother, namely
the wish to conquer. This attitude induced by a longing for vic-
tory has been magnificently misinterpreted by the Freudian school
as the permanently incestuous condition of being enamoured of
the mother. As a matter of fact this reinforced childhood-feeling
of inferiority occasioned by the patient's painful relation to his
mother, spurred this man on to prevent any struggle in later life
with a wife by providing himself with all kinds of safeguards.
Whatever it is we understand by love, in this particular case it is
simply a means to an end and that end is the final securing of
a triumph over some suitable woman. Here we have the reason
for the continual tests and orders and for the cancelling of the
engagement. This solution had not just "happened," but had on
the contrary been artistically prepared and arranged with the old
weapons of experience employed previously in the case of his
mother. A
defeat in marriage was out of the question because
marriage was prevented.
Although we consequently realize nothing puzzling in the be-
haviour of this man and should recognize in his domineering
attitude simply aggression posing as love, some words of explana-
tion are necessary to clear up the less intelligible nervous break-
down. We
are here entering upon the real domain of the psy-
chology of neuroses. As in the nursery so here our patient has
been worsted by a woman. The neurotic individual is led in such
cases to strengthen his protections and to retire to a fairly great
distance from danger. 3 Our patient is utilizing his break-down
in order to feed an bring up the question of
evil reminiscence, to

guilt again, to solve it in an unfavourable sense for the woman,

so that in future he may either proceed with even greater cau-
tion or take final leave of love and matrimony! This man is thirty

years old now. Let us assume that he is going to carry his pain
along with him for another ten or twenty years and that he is
8
Cf. "The Problem of Distance" in this volume. [The Practice and Theory
of Individual Psychology, pp. 100-108]
294 Alfred A deer
going to mourn for his lost ideal for the same length of time.
He has thereby protected himself against every love-affair and
permanently saved himself from new defeat.
He interprets his nervous break-down by means of old, now
strengthened, weapons of experience, just as he had as a child
refused to eat, sleep or to do anything and played the role of a
dying person. His fortunes ebb and his beloved carries all the
stigma, he himself rises superior to her in both culture and char-
acter, and lo and behold: he has attained that for which he
longed, for he isthe superior person, becomes the better man and
his partner like all girls is the guilty one. Girls cannot cope with
the man in him. In this manner he has consummated what as a
child he had already felt, the duty of demonstrating his superi-
ority over the female sex.
We can now understand that this nervous reaction can never be
sufficiently definite or adequate. He is to wander through the
world as a living reproach against women. 4
Were he aware of his secret plans he would realize how ill-
natured and evil-intentioned all his actions have been. However
he would, in that case, not succeed in attaining his object of
elevating himself above women. He would see himself just as we
see him, falsifying the weights and how everything he has done
has only led to a goal previously set. His success could not be
described as due to "fate" nor assuredly would it represent any
increased prestige. But his goal, his life-plan and his life-falsehood
demand this prestige! In
consequence it so "happens" that the
life-plan remains in the unconscious, so that the patient may
believe that an implacable fate and not a long prepared and long
meditated plan for which he alone is responsible, is at work.
I cannot go into a detailed description of what I call the "dis-

tance" that the neurotic individual places between himself and

the final issue, which in this case is marriage. The discussion of
the manner in which he accomplishes it I must also postpone to
my chapter on nervous "arrangements." I should like to point
out here however that the "distance" expresses itself clearly in the

*
The paranoidal trait is recognizable. Cf. "Life-lie and Responsibility in
Neurosis and Psychosis," in this volume. [The Practice and Theory of Indi-
vidual Psychology, pp. 235-245.]
Individual Psychology, Its Assumptions and Its Results 295

"hesitating attitudes," the principles, the point of view and the

life-falsehood. In its evolution neurosis and psychosis play lead-

ing roles.The appropriation for this purpose of perversions and

every type of impotence arising from the latter is quite frequent.
Such a man concludes his account and reconciles himself with
life by constructing one or a number of "if-clauses." "If con-
ditions had been different. ..."
The importance of the educational questions that arise and
upon which our school lays the greatest stress (Heilen und Bilden,
Munich, 1913) follows from what has been discussed.
From the method of presentation of the present work it is to
be inferred that as in the case of a psychotherapeutic cure, our
analysis proceeds backwards; examining first the superiority -goal,
explaining by means of it the type of conflict-attitude* adopted
particularly by nervous patients and only then attempting to
investigate the sources of the vital psychic mechanism. One of
the bases of the psychical dynamics we have already mentioned,
the presumably unavoidable artistic trait of the psychical appa-
ratus which, by means of the artistic artifice of the creation of
a fiction and the setting of a goal, adjusts itself to and extends
itself into the world of possible reality. I shall now proceed to

explain briefly how the goal of godlikeness transforms the rela-

tion of the individual to his environment into hostility and how
the struggle drives an individual towards a goal either along a
direct path such as aggressiveness or along by-ways suggested

by precaution. If we trace the history of this aggressive attitude

back to childhood we always come upon the outstanding fact that
throughout the whole period of development, the child possesses
a feeling of inferiority in its relations both to parents and the
world at large. Because of the immaturity of his organs, his un-
certainty and lack of independence, because of his need for de-
pendence upon stronger natures and his frequent and painful
feeling of subordination to others, a sensation of inadequacy
develops that betrays itself throughout life. This feeling of in-
feriorityis the cause of his continual restlessness as a child, his

craving for action, his playing of roles, the pitting of his strength
5
The "struggle for existence," the "struggle of all against all," etc., are
merely other perspectives of the same kind.
296 Alfred Adler

against that of others, his anticipatory pictures of the future and

his physical as well as mental preparations. The whole potential
educability of the child depends upon this feeling of insufficiency.
In this way the future becomes transformed into the land that
will bring him compensations. His conflict-attitude is again re-
flected in his feeling of inferiority; and only conflict does he

regard as a compensation which will do away permanently with

his present inadequate condition and will enable him to picture
himself as elevated above others. Thus the child arrives at the
positing of a goal, an imagined goal of superiority, whereby his
poverty is transformed into wealth, his subordination into domi-
nation, his suffering into happiness and pleasure, his ignorance
into omniscience and his incapacity into artistic creation. The

longer and more definitely the child feels his insecurity, the more
he suffers either from physical or marked mental weakness, the
more he is life's neglect, the higher will this goal be
aware of
placed and the more faithfully will it be adhered to. He who
wishes to recognize the nature of this goal, should watch a child
at play, at optionally selected occupations or when phantasy-

ing about his future profession. The apparent change in these

phenomena is purely external for in every new goal the child
imagines a predetermined triumph. A
variant of this weaving
of plans, one frequently found among weakly aggressive children,
among girls and sickly individuals, might be mentioned here. This
consists of so misusing their frailties that they compel others to
become subordinate to them. They will later on pursue the same
method until their life-plan and life-falsehood have been clearly
unmasked.
The attentive observer will find the nature of the
compensatory
dynamics presenting a quite extraordinary aspect as soon as he
permits the sexual role to be relegated to one of minor importance
and realizes that it is the former that is impelling the individual
toward superhuman goals. In our present civilization both the
girl and the youth will feel themselves forced
to extraordinary
exertions and manoeuvres, A
large number of these are admittedly
of a distinctively progressive nature. To preserve this progressive
nature but to ferret out those by-paths that lead us astray and
cause illness, to make these harmless, that is our object and one
Individual Psychology, Its Assumptions and Its Results 291

that takes us far beyond the limits of medical art. It is to this-

aspect of our subject that society, child-education and folk-educa-
tion may look for germs of a far-reaching kind. For the aim of
this point-of-view is to gain a reinforced sense of reality, the de-

velopment of a feeling of responsibility and a substitution for

mutual goodwill, all of which can be-
latent hatred of a feeling of
gained only by the conscious evolution of a feeling for the com-
mon weal and the conscious destruction of the will-to-power.
He who is looking for the power-phantasies of the child will
find them drawn with a master hand by Dostoevsky in his novel
entitled A Raw Youth. I found them blatantly apparent in one of

my patients. In the dreams and thoughts of this individual the fol-

lowing wish recurred repeatedly: others should die so that he
might have enough room in which to live, others should suffer
privations so that he might obtain more favourable opportunities.
This attitude reminds one of the inconsiderateness and heartless-
ness of many men who trace all evil back to the fact that there are
already too many people in the world; impulses that have un-
questionably made the world-war more palatable. The feeling
of certainty, in fictions of this kind, has been taken over in the
above-mentioned case from the basic facts of capitalistic trade,
where admittedly, the better the condition of one individual the
worse that of another. "I want to be a grave-digger," said a four-
year-old boy to me; "I want to be the person who digs graves foi
others."
 19

KARL ABRAHAM
Contributions to the Theory

of the Anal Character*

The wide field which is open to the science of psycho-analysis at

the present time offers an abundance of instances of the rapid

increase of psychologicalknowledge along the lines of purely
inductive investigation. Perhaps the most remarkable and instruc-
tive of these is the development of the theory of the anal charac-
ter.In 1908, about fifteen years after the appearance of his first
contributions to the psychology of the neuroses, Freud published
a short paper entitled "Character and Anal Erotism." It occupied
only three pages of a journal, and was a
model of condensed state-
ment and of cautious and clear summing up. The gradually in-

creasing number of his co-workers, among whom may

be men-
tioned Sadger, Ferenczi, and Jones, has helped to extend the
range of ascertained knowledge. The theory concerning the prod-
ucts of the transformation of anal erotism gained unsuspected sig-
nificance when in 1913, following on Jones' important investiga-
tion on "Hate and Anal Erotism in the Obsessional Neurosis,"
Freud formulated an early "pregenital" organization of the libido.
He considered that the symptoms of the obsessional neurosis were
the result of a regression of libido to this stage of development,
which is characterized by a preponderance of the anal and

sadistic component instincts. This threw a new light both on the

symptomatology of the obsessional neurosis and on the charac-

*
Reprinted from the Selected Papers of Karl Abraham,
M.D. (Inter-
national Psycho-Analytical Library, No. 13) by permission of The Hogarth
Ftess Ltd., and Basic Books, Inc.
29$
Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 299

terological peculiarities of the person suffering from it on the

so-called "obsessional character." I might add, anticipating a fu-
ture publication, that very similar anomalies of character are
found in those people who tend to melancholic or manic states
of mind. And the strictest possible study of the sadistic-anal char-
acter-traits is necessary before we can proceed to investigate
those last mentioned diseases which are still so enigmatical to us.

The present study is mainly concerned with the anal contribu-

tions to the formation of character. Jones' 1 last great work on this

subject presents an abundance of valuable material, but it does

not exhaust For the work of a single person cannot do justice
it.

to the multiplicity and complexity of the phenomena; each analyst

who possesses data of his own should publish them, and so help
to contribute to thebody of psycho-analytical knowledge. In the
same way the purpose of the following remarks is to extend the
theory of the anal character-traits in certain directions. Another
problem of great theoretical importance will be very frequently
alluded to in this study. Up to the present we understand only
very incompletely the particular psychological connections that
exist between the two impulses of sadism and anal erotism which
we always mention in close association with each other, almost
as a matter of habit. And I shall attempt the solution of this
question in a later paper.
In his first description of the anal character Freud has said
that certain neurotics present three particularly pronounced char-
acter-traits,namely, a love of orderliness which often develops
into pedantry, a parsimony which easily turns to miserliness, and
an obstinacy which may become an angry defiance. He estab-
lished the fact that the primary pleasure in emptying the bowels
and in its products was particularly emphasized in these per-
sons; and also that after successful repression their coprophilia
either becomes sublimated into pleasure in painting, modelling,
and similar activities, or proceeds along the path of reaction-for-
mation to a special love of cleanliness. Finally he pointed out
the unconscious equivalence of faeces and money or other valu-
ables. Among other observations Sadger 2 has remarked that per-

1
"Anal-erotic Character Traits" (1918).
3
"Analerotik und Analcharakter"
300 Karl Abraham

sons with a pronounced anal character are usually convinced

that they can do everything better than other people. He also
speaks of a contradiction in their character, namely, great per-
severance side by side with the tendency to put off doing every-
thingtill the last moment.

I will pass over isolated remarks in psycho-analytic literature

'by other authors and turn to Jones* very thorough and compre-
hensive study on this subject. I might remark in advance that I

<do not differ author on any points, but that nevertheless

from this
I feel that his statements need amplification and completion in
certain respects.
Jones quite rightly distinguishes two different acts in the
process we usually designate as the education of the child in
cleanly habits, The child has not only to be taught not
to soil its

body and surroundings with excreta, but it has also to be educated

to perform its excretory functions at regular times. In other
words, it has to give up both its coprophilia and its pleasure in
the process of excretion. This double process of limitation of in-
fantile impulses together with its consequences in the psychical

sphere requires further investigation.

The child's primitive method of evacuation brings the entire
surface of buttocks and lower extremities in contact with urine
its

and This contact seems unpleasant, even repulsive to

faeces. }

adults, whose repressions have removed them from the infantile

reaction to these processes. They cannot appreciate the sources of
pleasure on which the libido of the infant can draw, in whom the
-stream of warm urine on the skin and contact with the warm
:mass of fasces produce pleasurable feelings. The child only begins
:to give signs of discomfort when the excreted products grow cold
against its body. It is the same pleasure which the child seeks
when it handles its faeces at a somewhat later period. Ferenczi 3
%as traced the further development of this infantile tendency. It
vmust not be forgotten, moreover, that pleasure in the sight and
ssmell of faeces is associated with these feelings.
The special pleasure in the act of excretion, which we must
differentiate from pleasure in the products of the excretory
process, comprises besides physical sensations a psychical grati-
4
"On the Ontogenesis ot an Interest in Money" (1916).
Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 301

fication which is based on the achievement of that act. Now in

that the child's training demands strict regularity in its excretions
as well as cleanliness it exposes the child's narcissism to a first
severe test. The majority of children adapt themselves sooner

or later to these demands. In favourable cases the child succeeds

in making a virtue out of necessity, as it were; in other words,
in identifying itself with the requirements of its educators and
being proud of its attainment. The primary injury to its narcissism
is thus compensated, and its original feeling of self-satisfaction is
replaced by gratification in itsachievement, in "being good," in
its parents' praise.
All children are not equally successful in this respect. Particu-
lar attention should be drawn here to the fact that there are
certain over-compensations behind which is hidden that obstinate
holding fast to the primitive right of self-determination which
occasionally breaks out violently later. I have in mind those
children (and of course adults also) who are remarkable for
their "goodness," polite manners, and obedience, but who base
their underlying rebellious impulses on the grounds that they
have been forced into submission since infancy. These cases have
their own developmental history. In one of mypatients I could
trace back the course of events to her earliest infancy, in regard
to which, it is true, previous statements of her mother were of
assistance.
The patient was the middle one of three sisters. She showed
unusually clearly and completely the traits characteristic of a
"middle" child, which Hug-Hellmuth4 has recently described in
such an illuminating way. But her refractoriness, which was
associated in the clearest manner with her assertion of the in-
fantile right of self-determination in the sense mentioned above,
went back, in the last instance, to a particular circumstance of
her childhood.
When she was born her elder sister had been still under a
year old. Her mother had not quite succeeded in educating the
when the newcomer had
elder child to habits of cleanliness
imposed on her a double amount of washing, both of clothes
and body. When the patient was a few months old her mother
*"Vom 'mittlerern' Kinde" (1921).
302 Karl Abraham

had become pregnant for the third time, and had determined
to hasten the education of her second child in cleanly habits,
so that she should not be too much taken up with her when
still

the third child was born. She had demanded obedience on its
part regarding the carrying out of its needs earlier than is usual,
and had reinforced the effect of her words by smacking it. These
measures had produced a very welcome result for the harassed
mother. The child had become a model of cleanliness abnormally
early, and had grown surprisingly submissive. When she was
grown up, the patient was in a constant conflict between a con-
scious attitude of submissiveness, resignation and willingness to
sacrifice herself on the one hand, and an unconscious desire for

vengeance on the other.

This brief account illustrates in an instructive manner the
effect of early injuries to infantile narcissism, especially if these

injuries are of a persistent and systematic nature, and force a

habit prematurely upon the child before it is psychically ready
for it. This psychical preparedness only appears when the child
begins to transfer on to objects (its mother, etc.) the feelings
which are originally bound narcissistically. Once the child has
acquired this capacity it willbecome cleanly "for the sake of*
this person. If cleanliness is demanded too soon, it will acquire
the habit through fear. Its inner resistance will remain and its

libido will continue in a tenacious narcissistic fixation, and a

permanent disturbance of the capacity to love will result.
The full significance of such an experience for the psycho-
sexual development of the child only becomes apparent if we
examine in detail the course of narcissistic pleasure. Jones lays
stress on the connection between the child's high self-esteem and
5
its excretory acts. In a short paper I have brought forward some

examples to show that the child's idea of the omnipotence of its

wishes and thoughts can proceed from a stage in which it as-
cribed an omnipotence of this kind to its excretions. Further
experience has since convinced me that this is a regular and
The patient about whose childhood I have spoken
typical process.
had doubtless been disturbed in the enjoyment of a narcissistic
5
"The Narcissistic Evaluation of Excretory Processes in Dreams and Neu-
rosis" (1920).
Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 303

pleasure of this sort. The severe and painful feelings of in-

sufficiency with which she was later afflicted very probably went
back in the premature destruction of her
last instance to this
infantile"megalomania."
This view of the excretions as a sign of enormous power is
foreign to the consciousness of normal adults. That it persists
in the unconscious, however, is shown in many everyday ex-

pressions, mostly of a jocular nature; for example, the seat of

the closet is often denoted as the "throne." It is not to be wondered
at that children who grow up in a strong anal-erotic environment

incorporate these kinds of comparisons which they so frequently

hear, in the fixed body of their recollections and make use of
them in their later neurotic phantasies. One of my patients had
a compulsion to read a meaning of this kind into the Genpan
national anthem. By transposing himself in his phantasies of
greatness into the Kaiser's place he pictured to himself "the high
delight" of "bathing in the glory of the throne," i.e. of touching
his own excreta.
Once again language gives us characteristic instances of this
over-estimation of defsecation. In Spanish, the common ex-
pression for it, "regir el vientre" ("to rule the belly"), which is
used quite seriously, clearly indicates the pride taken by the
person in the functioning of his bowels.
If we recognize in the child's pride in evacuation a primitive

feeling of power we can understand the peculiar feeling of

helplessness we so often find in neurotically constipated patients.
Their libido has been displaced from the genital to the anal
zone, and they deplore the inhibition of the bowel function just
as though it were a genital impotence. In thinking of the person
who is hypochondriacal about his motions one is tempted to
speak of an intestinal impotence.
Closely connected with this pride is the idea of many neu-
rotics,which was first described by Sadger, that they must do
everything themselves because no one else can do it as wesL
According to my experience this conviction is often exaggerated
until the patient believes that he is a unique person. He will
become pretentious and arrogant and will tend to under-estimate
everyone else. One patient expressed this as follows: "Every-
304 Karl Abraham

thing that is not me is dirt." These neurotics only take pleasure

in possessing a thing that no one else has, and will despise any

activity which they have to share with other people.

The sensitiveness of the person with an anal character to
external encroachments of every kind on the actual or supposed
field of his power is well known. It is quite evident that psycho-

analysis must evoke the most violent resistance in such persons,

who regard it as an unheard-of interference with their way of
"Psycho-analysis pokes about in my affairs," one patient said,
life.

thereby indicating unconsciously his passive-homosexual and anal

attitude towards his analyst.
Jones emphasizes the fact that many neurotics of this class
hold fast obstinately to their own system of doing things. They
refuse altogether to accommodate themselves to any arrange-
ment imposed from without, but expect compliance from other
people as soon as they have worked out a definite arrangement
of their own. As an example, I might mention the introduction
of strict regulations for use in the office, or possibly the writing of
a book which contains binding rules or recommendations for the
organization of all offices of a certain kind.
The following is a glaring example of this kind. A mother
drew up a written programme in which she arranged her daugh-
ter's day in the most minute manner. The orders for the early

morning were set out as follows: (1) Get up. (2) Use the
chamber. (3) Wash, etc. In the morning she would knock from
time to time at her daughter's door, and ask, "How far have
you got now?" The girl would then have to reply, "9" or "15," as
the case might be. In this way the mother kept a strict watch over
the execution of her plan.
It might be mentioned here that all such systems not only
testify to an obsession for order in its inventor, but also to his
love of power which is of sadistic origin. I intend later to deal
with the combination of anal and sadistic impulses in detail.
Allusion may be made here to the pleasure these neurotics
take in indexing and registering everything, in making up tabu-
larsummaries, and in dealing with statistics of every kind.
They furthermore show the same self-will in regard to any
demand or request made to them by some other person. We are
Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 305

reminded of the conduct of those children who become con-

stipated when defalcation is demanded of them, but afterwards
yield to the need at a time that is agreeable to themselves. Such
children rebel equally against the "shall" (being told to empty
their bowels) as against the "must" (a child's expression for the
need to defsecate); their desire to postpone evacuation is a pro-
tection against both imperatives.
The surrender of excrement is the earliest form in which the
child "gives" or "presents" a thing; and the neurotic often shows
the self-will we have described in the matter of giving. Accord-
ingly in many cases he will refuse a demand or request made to
own free choice make a person a handsome
him, but will of his
present. The important thing to him is to preserve his right of
decision. We
frequently find in our psycho-analyses that a
husband opposes any expenditure proposed by his wife, while
he afterwards hands her of his "own free will" more than whai
she first asked for. These men delight in keeping their wives per-
manently dependent on them financially. Assigning money in
portions which they themselves determine is a source of pleasure
to them. Wecome across similar behaviour in some neurotics
regarding defaecation, which they only allow to take place in
refracta dosi. special tendency these men and women have
One
is to distributefood in portions according as they think best,
and this habit occasionally assumes grotesque forms. For in-
stance, there was a case of a stingy old man who fed his goat
by giving it each blade of grass separately. Such people like to
arouse desire and expectation in others and then to give them
gratification in small and insufficient amounts.
In those instances where they have to yield to the demand
of another person some of these neurotics endeavour to main-
tain a semblance of making a personal decision. An example of
this is thetendency to pay even the smallest amounts by cheque;
in this way the person avoids using current notes and coin, but
creates his "own money" in each case. The displeasure of pay-
ing out is thereby diminished by just as much as
it would be

increased if payment were made in coin. I should like to make it

quite clear, however, that other motives
are also operative here.
Neurotics who wish to introduce their own system into every-
306 Karl Abraham

criticism of others,
thing are inclined to be exaggerated in their
and this easily degenerates into mere carping. In social life they
constitute the main of malcontents. The original anal
body
characteristic of self-will can, however, develop in two different

directions, as Jones has convincingly shown.

In some cases we
meet with inaccessibility and stubbornness, that is, with charac-

teristics that are unsocial and unproductive. In

others we find
and i.e. characteristics of social value
perseverance thoroughness,
as long as they are not pushed to extremes. We must here
once
more draw attention to the existence of other instinctual sources
besides anal erotism which go to reinforce these tendencies.
The opposite type has received very little consideration in
psycho-analytical literature.
There are certain neurotics who
avoid taking any kind of initiative. In ordinary life they want
a kind father or attentive mother to be constantly at hand to
remove every difficulty out of their way, In psycho-analysis they
resent having to give free associations. They would like
to lie

do the work, or to
quite still and let the physician
all analytical
The of the facts disclosed by the
be questioned by him. similarity

analysis of these cases enables me to state that these patients

used in childhood to resist the act of defalcation demanded of

trouble by being
them, and that then they used to be spared this
their mother or father. To
given frequent enemas or purges by
them free association is a psychical evacuation, and just as
with bodily evacuation they dislike being asked to perform
it. are continually expecting that the work should be made
They
easier or done for them altogether. I may recall a reverse form
of this resistance, which I have likewise traced back to anal
6 It concerns those
erotic sources in an earlier paper. patients
who wish to do everything themselves according to their own
method in their psycho-analysis, and for this reason refuse to
carry out the prescribed free association.
In this paper I do not intend so much to discuss the neurotic
anal erotism, as its
symptom-formations arising from repressed
therefore only touch
characterological manifestations. I shall

"The Narcissistic Evaluation of Excretory Processes in Dreams and Neu-

rosis" (1920).
Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 307

upon the various forms of neurotic inhibition which obviously

have to do with a displacement of libido to the anal zone. The
fact that avoidance of effort is a frequent feature of the anal
character needs further discussion; and we must briefly consider
what the state of affairs is in the person with a so-called "obses-
sional character."
If the libido of the male person does not advance in full
measure to the stage of genital organization, or if it regresses
from the genital to the anal developmental phase, there invariably
results a diminution of male activity in every sense of the word.
His physiological productiveness is bound up with the genital
zone. If his libido regresses to the sadistic-anal phase he loses
his productive power, and not only in the purely generative
sense. His genital libido should give the first impulse to the
procreative act, and therewith to the creation of a new being.
If the initiative necessary for this reproductive act is lacking, we
invariably find a lack of productivity and initiative in other
respects in his behaviour. But the effects go even beyond this.
Together with the man's genital activity there goes a positive
feeling-attitude towards his love-object, and this attitude extends
to his behaviour towards other objects and is expressed in his

capacity for social adaptation, his devotion to certain interests

and ideas, etc. In all these respects the character-formation of
the sadistic-anal stage is inferior to that of the genital phase.
The sadistic element, which in a normal man's emotional life

is of great importance once it has undergone appropriate trans-

formation through sublimation, appears with particular strength
in the obsessional character, but becomes more or less crippled
in consequence of the ambivalence in the instinctual life of such

persons. It also contains destructive tendencies hostile to the

object, and on account of this cannot become sublimated to a

real capacity for devotion to a love-object. For the reaction-
formation of too great yieldingness and gentleness which is
frequently observed in such people must
not be confused with
a real transference-love. Those cases in which object-love and
genital libido-organization have been attained to a fair extent are

more favourable. If the character-trait of over-kindness men-

308 K ar l Abraham

tioned above is combined with a partial object-love of this kind,

a socially useful "variety" is produced, which in essential respects
is, nevertheless, inferior to full object-love.
In individuals with more or less impaired genitality we regu-
larly find an unconscious tendency to regard
the anal function
as the productive activity, and to make it appear as if the genital
activity were unessential and the anal one
far more important.

The social behaviour of these persons is accordingly strongly

bound up with money. They like to make presents of money
of the arts or
or equivalent, and tend to become patrons
its

benefactors of some kind. But their libido remains more or less

detached from objects, and so the work they do remains un-
are by no means lacking
productive in the essential sense. They
in perseverance a frequent mark of the anal character but
their perseverance is largely used in unproductive ways. They
of fixed forms,
expend it, for instance, in the pedantic observance
so that in unfavourable cases their preoccupation with the
external form outweighs their interest in the reality of the
char-
thing. In considering the various ways in which the anal
acter impairs male activity we must not forget the tendency,
often a very obstinate one, of postponing every action. We are
well acquainted with the origin of this tendency. There is often
associated with it a tendency to interrupt every activity that
has been begun; so that in many cases as soon as a person begins
doing anything it can already be predicted that an interruption
will occur very soon.
More rarely I have found the reverse conduct. For instance,
one of my patients was prevented from writing his doctor's
thesis through a long-standing resistance. After several motives
for his resistance had come to light we found the following
one: he declared that he shrank from beginning his work because
when he had once begun he could not leave off again. We are
reminded of the behaviour of certain neurotics in regard to
their excretions. They retain the contents of the bowel or bladder,
as long as they possibly can. When finally they yield to the
need that has become too strong for them there is no further
holding back, and they evacuate the entire contents. A fact to
be particularly noted here is that there is a double pleasure, that
Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 309

of holding back the excreta, and that of evacuating it. The

essential difference between the two forms of pleasure lies in the

protracted nature of the process in the one case, and in its rapid
course in the other. As regards the patient just mentioned the
long-deferred beginning of the work signified a turning from
7
pleasure in retention to pleasure in evacuation.
A
detail from the history of the same patient will show the

degree to which a preponderance of anal over genital erotism

makes the neurotic inactive and unproductive. During his analy-
sis he remained wholly inactive for a long period, and
as well
by means of this resistance prevented any alteration taking place
in his condition and circumstances. As is often the case in
obsessional patients, his sole method of dealing with his external
and internal difficulties was to swear violently. These expressions
of affect were accompanied by very significant behaviour. In-
stead of thinking about the success of his work, he used to
ponder over the question of what would happen to his curses
whether they reached God or the devil, and what was the
fate of sound-waves in general. His intellectual activity was thus

replaced by neurotic brooding. It appeared from his associations

that the brooding question about the place where noise finally
got to referred also to smell, and was in the last instance of
anal erotic origin (flatus).
it may be said that the more male ac-
Generally speaking,
tivity and productivity is hindered in neurotics, the more pro-
nounced their interest in possession becomes, and this in a way
which departs widely from the normal. In marked cases of
anal almost all relationships in life are
character-formation
brought into the category of having (holding fast) and giving,
7
The tendency to retain the faeces represents a special form of adherence
to fore-pleasure, and seems to me to merit special consideration. I will only
mention one point concerning it in this place. Recently frequent attempts
have been made to set up two opposite "psychological types" and to bring all
individuals into one or other category. We
may recall in this connection
Jung's "extroverted" and "introverted" types.
The patient whom I mentioned
above was undoubtedly turned in upon himself in the highest degree, bur &L
gave up this attitude of hostility to objects more and more in the course of
his analysis. This and many similar experiences go to prove that "introversion"
in Jung's sense is an infantile clinging to the pleasure in retention. We
are
therefore dealing with an attitude that can be acquired or given up, and not
with a manifestation of a rigid psychological type.
310 Karl Abraham

i.e.of proprietorship. It is as though the motto of many of these

people were: "Whoever gives me something is my friend; who-
ever desires something from me is my enemy." One patient said
that he could not have any friendly feelings towards me during
his treatment, and added in explanation: "So long as I have to

pay anybody anything I cannot be friendly towards him." We

find the exact reverse of this behaviour in other neurotics; their
to the
friendly feeling towards a person increases in proportion
help he needs and asks for.
In the first and larger group envy stands out clearly as the
main character-trait. The envious person, however, shows not
connects with
only a desire for the possessions of others, but
that desire spiteful impulses against the privileged proprietor.
But we will only make a passing reference to the sadistic and
anal roots of envy, since both are of minor and auxiliary signifi-

cance in the production of that character-trait, which originates

in the earlier, oral phase of libido-development. One example
will suffice to illustrate the connection of envy with anal ideas
of possession, and that is the frequent envy of his analyst on the
part of the patient. He envies him the position of a "superior,"
and continually compares himself with him. Apatient once said
that the distribution of the roles in psycho-analysiswas too un-
just, for it was he who had to make all had
the sacrifices; he
to visit the physician, produce his associations, and to pay the

money into the bargain. The same patient also had the habit
of calculating the income of everyone he knew.
We have now come very close to one of the classical traits
of the person with an anal character, namely, his special atti-
tude to money, which is usually one of parsimony or avarice.
Often as this characteristic has been confirmed in psycho-analyti-
cal literature, there are yet a number of features connected with
it which have not received much notice, and which I shall there-
fore proceed to deal with.
There are cases in which the connection between intentional
retention of faeces and systematic parsimony is perfectly clear.
I may mention the example of a rich banker who again and again

impressed on his children that they should retain the contents of

Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 311

the bowels as long as possible, in order to get the benefit of every

bit of the expensive food they ate.
Some neurotics limit their parsimony or their avarice to cer-
tain kinds of expenditure, while in other respects they spend
money with surprising liberality. There is a class of patient who
avoids spending any money on "passing" things. A
concert, a
journey, a visit to an exhibition, involves expense and nothing
permanent is got in return. I knew a person who avoided going to
the opera for this reason; nevertheless he bought piano scores
of the operas which he had not heard, because in this way he ob-
tained something "lasting." Some of these neurotics avoid spend-
ing money on food, because it is not retained as a permanent
possession. It is significant that there is another type of patient
who readily incurs expense for food in which he has an over-
great interest. These are the neurotics who are always anxiously
watching Their interest is
their bodies, testing their weight, etc.
concerned with the question of what remains of the material
introduced into their body as a lasting possession. It is evident,
that they identify the content of the body with money.
In other cases we find that the neurotic carries his parsimony
into every part of his life; and on certain points he goes to ex-
tremes without effecting any appreciable economy. I might men-
tion an eccentric miser who used to go about in his house with
the front of his trousers unbuttoned, in order that the button-
holes should not wear out too quickly. It is easy to guess that
in this instance other impulses were also operative. Nevertheless
it is characteristic that these could be concealed behind the anal
erotic tendency to save money, and that this motive should
be so much emphasized. In some patients we find a parsimony
in the special instance of using toilet paper. In this a dislike
of soiling a clean thing co-operates as a determining factor.
The displacement of avarice from money or the value of
money to time may be observed quite frequently. Time, it may
be remembered, is likened tomoney in a familiar saying. Many
neurotics are continually worrying over waste of time. It is
only the time which they spend alone or at their work that seems
to them well employed. Any disturbance in their work irritates
312 Karl Abraham

them exceedingly. They hate inactivity, pleasures, etc. These are

the people who tend to exhibit the "Sunday neuroses" described
i.e. who cannot endure an interruption of their
8
by Ferenczi,
work. Just as every neurotically exaggerated purpose often fails

to achieve object, so is this the case

its here. The patients often

save time on a small scale and waste it on a great one.

Such patients frequently undertake two occupations at once
hi order to save time. They like, for example, to learn, read,
other tasks during defascation. I have repeatedly
9
or accomplish
come who in order to save time used to put on or
across people
take off theircoat and waistcoat together, or on going to bed
would leave their pants in their trousers in order to put on both
garments in one movement in the morning. Examples of this
kind could easily be multiplied.
The forms in which pleasure in possession can express itself
are very numerous. The stamp-collector who deeply feels the
not so far removed from the miser
gap in his set of stamps is
who, according to popular notion, counts and gloats over his
the impulse to collect
gold pieces. But Jones' work concerning
is so informative that I can add nothing of importance to it.
On the other hand, it seems to me necessary to make a brief
allusion to a phenomenon which is closely related to the subject's

pleasure in looking at his

own possessions. I refer to the pleasure
in looking at one's own mental creations, letters, manuscripts,
etc., or completed works
of all kinds. The prototype of this tend-
ency is looking at one's own faeces, which is an ever-new source
and is in some neurotics a form of
of pleasure to many people,
psychical compulsion.
This fact of a libidinal over-emphasis of possession explains
the difficulty our patients have in separating themselves from
objects of all kinds,
when these have neither practical use nor
of broken
monetary value. Such people often collect all sorts
in the attics under the pretext that they might need them
objects
later. Then on some occasion or other they will get
rid of the

s
"Sunday Neurosis" (1919).
is the true place of "production/' to which
*For these neurotics the w.c.
solitude is an assistance. One patient who showed violent
resistance against
its
hours produced them at home in
giving free associations during the analytic
the w.c., and brought them ready made to the analysis.
Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 313

whole lot of rubbish at once. Their pleasure in having a mass

of material stored up entirely corresponds to pleasure in the
retention of faeces. We find in this case that the removal
(evacuation) of the material is delayed as long as possible. The
same persons collect bits of paper, old envelopes, worn-out pens
and similar things, and cannot get rid of these possessions for
long periods of time, and then at rare intervals they make a
general clearance, which is likewise associated with pleasure.
Among business men and clerks I have sometimes come across
a particular tendency to preserve carefully quite soiled and
torn blotting-paper. In the unconscious of these neurotics the
spots of ink are equivalent to the stain of faeces. I might mention
that I knew a senile and weak-minded woman with a strong
who used to put the toilet
regression of libido to the anal stage
paper she had used in her pocket and carry it about with her.
The following peculiar habit of a woman who also exhibited
unusually pronounced anal traits in other respects shows clearly
that throwing away objects is equivalent in the unconscious to
evacuating faeces. This woman was unable to throw away objects
that had become useless. Nevertheless, she sometimes felt im-
pelled to throw some object of this kind away, and so she had
invented a method of tricking herself, as it were. She would go
from her house into a neighbouring wood with the object to
be removed perhaps some old clothes fixed to her back by
one corner tucked under her apron-string. On her way through
the wood she would "lose" it and return home another way so
that she should not catch sight of the "lost" object. In order
to give up possession of an object, therefore, she had to let it
fall from the back part of her body.
People who do not like to get rid of worn-out objects do
not as a rule readily take to new ones. They buy new clothes,
but do not wear them; they "keep" them for the future, and
only take a real pleasure in them so long as they hang unused
in the cupboard.
The disinclination to throw away worn-out or worthless ob-
jectsfrequently leads to a compulsive tendency to make use
of even the most trifling thing. A
rich man used to cut his

empty match-boxes into small strips and give them to his servants
314 Karl Abraham

to light the fires with. A similar tendency appears in women in

the period of involution.
In many cases the person's interest in making use of rem-
nants undergoes an incomplete kind of sublimation; as, for
instance, when a neurotic has as his favourite day-dream
the
utilization of the refuse of a whole town, though no practical
result of his reflections may appear. We shall deal later with

day-dreams of this nature.

We find a tendency to extravagance less frequent than parsi-
mony in our patients. In an observation communicated to the
Berlin Psycho-Analytical Society, Simmel made the parallel be-
tween extravagance and neurotic diarrhoea just as evident as
that between avarice and constipation, which has long been
clear to us. I can confirm the correctness of his view from

my own experience, and indeed I drew attention some years ago

to the fact that spending money can represent an equivalent for
10 I
a longed-for but neurotically inhibited release of libido.
might mention here the inclination some women have to throw
away money. It expresses hostility towards the husband, whose
"means" n are taken from him in this way; it concerns, there-
fore if we leave an expression of
out other determinants
the female castration complex in the sense of a revenge on the
man. We see here again sadistic motives co-operating with
those of anal-erotic origin.
We can quite understand, from their contradictory attitude
towards defalcation, the meanness many neurotics show in saving
small sums of they will spend largely and generously
money while
from These
time to time. persons postpone emptying the bowels
as long as possible often giving lack of time as a reason and
when they do go to the w.c. only evacuate a small quantity of
faeces. But every now and then they have an evacuation on a

grand scale.
We occasionally come across persons with pronounced anal
character whose libido has turned quite exclusively to the pos-
session of money. A
patient told me that as a boy he did not play

10
"The Spending of Money in Anxiety States" (1917).
n
[The German word "Vermogen"
= "means," "wealth"; also = "sexual
capacity." Trans.]
Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 315

at battles with lead soldiers like other children, but with pieces of
money. He
got people to give him copper coins, and these repre-
sented ordinary soldiers. Nickel ones were non-commissioned
officers of various rank, and silver ones were officers. silver A
five-mark piece was the field-marshal. This officer was secured
from all attack in a special building "behind the front." One
side took "prisoners" from the other in the battle and added them
to its own army. In this manner one side increased its possession
of money until the other had nothing left. It is quite obvious
that the "struggle" in the patient's unconscious was against his
"rich" father. It is worth noting, however, that money entirely
replaced human beings. And indeed when this patient came to
me for treatment he took no personal interest in other people
whatever; only the possession of money and money values at-
tracted him.
The conduct of our patients with regard to order and clean-
liness is spending money. Tsas
just as contradictory as it is in
fact is so familiar to every psycho-analyst that a general refer-
ence to it should not be necessary; but certain particulars in this
connection deserve special consideration.
Pleasure in indexing and classifying, in compiling lists and

statistical summaries, in drawing up programmes and regulating

work by time-sheets, is well known to be an expression of the
anal character. This tendency is so marked in many people that
the fore-pleasure they get in working out a plan is stronger than
their gratification in its execution, so that they often leave it

undone. have known a number of patients with a long-standing

I

inhibition in their work who would draw up a plan of work, say,

every Sunday for the coming week, and would then fail utterly
to put it into practice. It is to be noted that they included not
only undecided people but obstinate ones who in their self-
opinionated way rejected the proved methods of others and
wanted to act according to their own.
Many neurotics remain during life in a particular attitude of
ambivalency towards order and cleanliness. There are people who
are very well groomed as far as their exterior goes. But whereas
their visible costume and linen is irreproachable, their under-

clothing and the covered parts of their body axe exceedingly

 316 Karl Abraham
12
dirty. These same people tend
to preserve scrupulous order
in their houses. On
the writing table, for instance, every object
will have its special place, and the books are placed with great
care and regularity in the book-case where they are visible. In
the drawers, however, complete disorder reigns, a disorder which
is only corrected by a thorough clearance on rare occasions, and

then only in a temporary way.

might mention here that in the unconscious of these neu-
I

rotics a disordered room, disarranged drawers, etc., represent

the bowel filled with faeces. I have repeatedly had occasion to

analyse dreams which allude to the bowel in this way. One of

my patients brought me a dream in which he climbed up a
ladder after his mother in order to get into a lumber-room in
the attics. It was an incest-dream with an anal coitus-phantasy
in which the anus was represented symbolically as a narrow
ladder and the bowel as a lumber-room.
Character-traits connected with orderliness, as, for example,
thoroughness and accuracy, are often closely associated with the
opposite characteristic. These traits are particularly dealt with
in Jones' investigations, and I need not go into them, but I may
mention the craving for symmetry and "fairness" which is often
represented in the anal character.
Just as some neurotics count their steps in order to reach their
destination with an even number of paces, so they tolerate no
asymmetry in other matters. They anange all their objects sym-
metrically. They divide everything with minute exactness. A
husband will draw up calculations to show his wife that there
is no equality between their respective expenditure on clothes,
etc.;he will constantly be working out what the one has spent
and what the other is therefore entitled to spend to make things
even. During the food shortage in the Great War two unmarried
brothers kept house together. When the rationed meat for both
was put on the table they divided it by weighing each portion
on a pair of letter scales. Both were anxious lest the other should

13
There
a saying in Berlin regarding such people:
is Oen hui, unten pfuiJ
["On top spry, below, oh fie!"]. In Bavaria they say more coarsely, Oben
all

beglissen \= "shining"], unten beschfssen [ = "beshat"]. The contradictions in

some people in this respect is a matter, therefore, of common knowledge.
Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 317

go short or feel himself unfairly treated. The perpetual desire

to be "quits" with other people, i.e. to be under no obligation,
however trifling, is also significant. That other people with pro-
nounced anal character have a tendency to forget their debts
(particularly when they are for small sums) may be taken as
a symptomof unsublimated anal erotism.
a discovery of Jones must be discussed which he
Finally,
only mentions by the way, but which obviously is the con-
densed result of wide experience.
A
most interesting result of anal erotism, he writes, "is the
tendency to be occupied with the reverse side of various things
and situations. This may manifest itself in many different ways;
in marked curiosity about the opposite or back side of objects
and places e.g. on the other side of a
in the desire to live
hill because it back turned to a given place; in the prone-
has its

ness to make numerous mistakes as to right and left, east and

west; to reverse words and letters in writing; and so on."
I could support Jones' view with numerous examples from

my own experience. They are of far-reaching importance for

understanding certain neurotic symptoms and character-traits.
There is no doubt that the displacement of libido from the genital
to the anal zone is the prototype -of all these "reversals." In this
connection the conduct of many people who are considered
eccentric may be mentioned. Their nature is built up for the
most part on anal character-traits. They tend to act in great
and small things in a manner opposite to that of other people.
They wear clothes that are as dissimilar as possible from the
prevailing fashion. They work when others play. If they do
work at which others sit, they stand. When others ride, they
go on foot; or run while others walk. If people wear warm cloth-
ing, they do the opposite. The food they enjoy is opposed to
the general taste. The connection between this and the familiar
character-trait of obstinacy is unmistakable.
During my student days I knew a young man who was notice-
able for his peculiar habits. He lived unsocially, resisted the
fashion of the time in an ostentatious manner, and would not
conform to the customs of the rest of the students. As I was

having a mid-day meal with him one day in a restaurant I noticed

318 Karl Abraham

that he took the menu in the reverse order, i.e. he commenced

with the sweet and ended with the soup. Some years later I was
asked by his relatives to see him professionally. I found that
he had already developed definite paranoic delusions. If we bear
in mind the great significance of anal erotism in the psycho-
genesis of paranoia, a significance which Ferenczi has pointed
out, we can understand this man's eccentric behaviour as an
anal character-formation, and therefore as a precursor of par-
anoia.
Certain cases of neuroses in women, in which an unusually
strong castration complex expressed, reveal to us best the
is

deeper meaning of such a tendency to reversal. We

find in them
that springs from two main motives
it a displacement of libido
from "in front" to "behind," and the wish for a change of sex.
I hope to have something to say concerning this condition of
mind in another connection.
I should like to conclude these remarks on anal character-
traits with an observation the truth of which I should like others
to test. This is that the anal character sometimes seems to stamp
on the physiognomy of its possessor. It seems particularly
itself

to show itself in a morose expression. Persons who are deprived

of normal genital gratification tend to surliness 13 as a rule. A
constant tension of the line of the nostril together with a slight
lifting of the upper lip seem to me significant facial characteristics
of such people. In some cases this gives the impression that they
are constantly sniffing at something. Probably this feature is
traceable to their coprophilic pleasure in smell. In the case of
a man who had kind of facial expression 1 once remarked
this
that he looked as though he were constantly smelling himself.
Someone who knew him quite well said that he really did have
the habit of smelling his hands and every object he picked up.
I might add that he exhibited the typical anal character-traits in

a pronounced form.
I do not claim to have dealt exhaustively with the subject
of anal character-traits in this paper. On the contrary, I am
conscious how little justice I have done to the richness and

13
Some, it is true, have at their command plentiful narcissistic sources of
pleasure, and live in a state of smiling self-satisfaction.
Contributions to the Theory of the Anal Character 319

variety of the material. In reality I have had in view another

object, namely, to increase our knowledge of the pregenital phases
of the development of the libido by making some additions to
the investigation of the anal character. As I have said at the
beginning, this paper is intended to be followed by a study of
the manic-depressive states, for the understanding of which a
knowledge of the pregenital stages of development is essential,
 20

ERICH FROMM

Selfishness, Self-Love, and

Self-interest*

Thou shall love thy neighbour as thyself.

BIBLE

Modern culture is pervaded by a tabu on selfishness. We ar4

taught that to be selfish is sinful and

that to love others is virtu-

ous. To be sure, this doctrine is in flagrant contradiction to the

practice of modem society, which holds the doctrine that the
most powerful and legitimate drive in man is selfishness and that
by following this imperative drive the individual makes his best
contribution to the common good. But the doctrine which de-
clares selfishness to be the arch evil and love for others to be
the greatest virtue is still powerful. Selfishness is used here
almost synonymously with self-love. The alternative is to love
others,which is a virtue, or to love oneself, which is a sin.
This principle has found its classic expression in Calvin's the-
ology, according to which man is essentially
evil and powerless.

Man can achieve absolutely nothing that is good on the basis of

his own strength or merit. "We are not our own," says Calvin.
"Therefore neither our reason nor our will should predominate
in our deliberations and actions. We are not our own; therefore
letus not propose it as our end to seek what may be expedient
for us according to the flesh. We are not our own; therefore, let

*
From Man for Himself: An Inquiry into the Psychology of Ethics, by
Erich Fromm. Copyright 1947 by Erich Fromm, reprinted by permission of
Rinehart & Co., Inc. and Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd.
320
Selfishness, Self -Love, ana Self-Interest 321

us, as far as possible, forget ourselves and all things that are ours.
On the contrary, we are God's; for Him, therefore, let us live and
die. For, as it is the most devastating pestilence which rums
people if they obey themselves, it is the only haven of salvation
not to know or to want anything by oneself but to be guided by
God Who walks before us." 1 Man should have not only the
conviction of his absolute nothingness but he should do every-
thing to humiliate himself. "For I do not call it humility if you

suppose that we have anything left .... we cannot think of our-

selves as we ought to think without utterly despising everything
that may be supposed an excellence in us. This humility is un-

feigned submission of a mind overwhelmed with a weighty sense

of its own misery and poverty; for such is the uniform descrip-
tion of it in the word of God." 2
This emphasis on the nothingness and wickedness of the indi-
vidual implies that there is nothing he should like and respect
about himself. The doctrine is rooted in self-contempt and self-
hatred. Calvin makes this point very clear: he speaks of self-love
as "a pest." 3 If the individual finds something "on the strength
of which he finds pleasure in himself," he betrays this sinful
self-love. This fondness for himself will make him sit in judgment
over others and despise them. Therefore, to be fond of oneself
or to like anything in oneself is one of the greatest sins. It is
4
supposed to exclude love for others and to be identical with
selfishness. 5
The view of man held by Calvin and Luther has been of
1
Johannes Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans, by John Allen
(Philadelphia: Presbyterian Board of Christian Education, 1928), in particular
Book III, Chap. 7, p. 619. From "For, as it is ... ." the translation is
mine from the Latin original (Johannes Calvini, Insiitutio Christianae
Religionis. Editionem curavit, A. Tholuk, Berolini, 1935, par. I, p. 445).
3
Chap. 12, par. 6, p. 681.
Ibid.,
Ibid., Chap. 7, par. 4, p. 622.
4
It should be noted, however, that even love for one's neighbor, while it is
one of the fundamental doctrines of the New Testament, has not been given
a corresponding weight by Calvin. In blatant contradiction to the New Testa-
ment, Calvin says: "For what the schoolmen advance concerning the priority
of charity to faith and hope, is a mere reverie of a distempered imagination
. . . ." Chap. 24, par. 1, p. 531.
5
Despite Luther's emphasis on the spiritual freedom of the individual, his
theology, different as it is in many ways from Calvin's, is pervaded by the
same conviction of man's basic powerlessness and nothingness.
322 Erich Fromrn

tremendous influence on the development of modern Western

society. They laid the foundations for an attitude in which man's
own happiness was not considered to be the aim of life but
where he became a means, an adjunct, to ends beyond him, of
an all-powerful God, or of the not less powerful secularized
authorities and norms, the state, business, success. Kant, who,
with regard to the idea that man should be an end in himself and
never a means only, was perhaps the most influential ethical
thinker of the Enlightenment period, nevertheless had the same
condemnation for self-love. According to him, it is a virtue to
want happiness for others, but to want one's own happiness is
ethically indifferent, since it is something for which the nature of
man is striving, and since a natural striving cannot have a posi-
tive ethical value. Kant admits that one must not give up one's
6

claims to happiness; under certain circumstances it may even be

a duty to be concerned with it, partly because health, wealth,
and the like may be means necessary for the fulfillment of one's
duty, partly because the lack of happiness poverty can prevent
one from fulfilling his duty. 7 But love for oneself, striving for
one's own happiness, can never be a virtue. As an ethical princi-
ple, the striving for one's own happiness "is the most objection-
able one, not merely because it is false .... but because the
it provides for morality are such as rather to undermine
springs
it and destroy its sublimity . . . ." 8

Kant differentiates
egotism, philautia a benevo-self-love,
lence for oneself and arrogance, the pleasure in oneself. But
even "rational self-love" must be restricted by ethical principles,
the pleasure in oneself must be battered down, and the individual
must come to feel humiliated in comparing himself with the
9
sanctity of moral laws. The individual should find supreme hap-
piness in the fulfillment of his duty. The realization of the moral
principle and, therefore, of the individual's happiness is only
6
Compare Immanuel Kant, Kant's Critique of Practical Reason and Other
WbrJcs on the Theory of Ethics, trans, by Thomas Kingsmill Abbott (New
York: Longmans, Green & Co., 1909), Part I, Book I, Chap. I, par. VIII,
Remark II, p. 126.
7
Ibid, in particular Part I, Book I, Chap. Ill, p. 186.
s
Loc. cit., Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals; second
section, p. 61.
8
Loc. cit., Part I, Book I, Ch. Ill, p. 165.
Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-Interest 323

possible in the general whole, the nation, the state. But "the
welfare of the state" and salus rei publicae suprema lex est
is not identical with the welfare of the citizens and their happi-
ness. 10
In spite of the fact that Kant shows a greater respect for the
integrity of the individual than did Calvin or Luther, he denies
the individual's right to rebel even under the most tyrannical
government; the rebel must be punished with no less than death
ifhe threatens the sovereign. 11 Kant emphasizes the native pro-
12
pensity for evil in the nature of man, for the suppression of
which the moral law, the categorical imperative, is essential lest
man should become a beast and human society end in wild
anarchy.
In the philosophy of the Enlightenment period the individual's
claims to happiness have been emphasized much more strongly
by others than by Kant, for instance, by Helvetius. This trend in
modern philosophy has found its most radical expression in

Stirner and Nietzsche. 13 But while they take the opposite position
to that of Calvin and Kant with regard to the value of selfishness,
they agree with them in the assumption that love for others and
love for oneself are alternatives. They denounce love for others
as weakness and self-sacrifice and postulate egotism, selfishness,
and self-love they too confuse the issue by not clearly differen-
tiating between these last as virtue. Thus Stirner says: "Here,

egoism, selfishness must decide, not the principle of love, not

love motives like mercy, gentleness, good-nature, or even justice
and equity for iustitia too is a phenomenon of love, a product
of love; love knows only sacrifice and demands self-sacrifice." 14
10
Immanuel Kant, Immanuel Kant's WerJce (Berlin: Cassierer),
1

in particu-
lar "Der Rechtslehre Zweiter Tefl" I. Abschnitt, par. 49, p. 124. I translate
from the German
text, since this part omitted in the English translation of
is

The Metaphysics of Ethics by I. W. Semple (Edinburgh: 1871).

11
Ibid., p. 126.
33
Compare Immanuel Kant, Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone,
trans, by T. M. Greene and H. H. Hudson (Chicago: Open Court, 1934),
Book I.
13
In order not to make this chapter too long I discuss only the modern
philosophical development. The student of philosophy will know that Aristotle's
and Spinoza's ethics consider self-love a virtue, not a vice, in striking contrast
to Calvin's standpoint.
14
Max Stirner, The Ego and His Own, trans, by S. T. Byington (London:
A. C. Fifield, 1912), p. 339,
324 Erich Fromm
The kind of love denounced by Stirner is the masochistic
dependence by which the individual makes himself a means for
achieving the purposes of somebody or something outside him-
self. Opposing this concept of love, he did not avoid a formula-

tion, which, highly polemical, overstates the point. The positive

15 was
principle with which Stirner was concerned opposed to an
attitude which had been that of Christian theology for centuries
and which was vivid in the German idealism prevalent in his
time; namely, to bend the individual so that he submits to, and
finds his center in, a power and a principle outside himself.
Stirner was not a philosopher of the stature of Kant or Hegel,
but he had the courage to rebel radically against that side of
idealistic philosophy which negated the concrete individual and
thus helped the absolute state to retain its oppressive power over
him.
In spite of many between Nietzsche and Stirner,
differences
very much the same. Nietzsche too
their ideas in this respect are
denounces love and altruism as expressions of weakness and self-
negation. For Nietzsche, the quest for love is typical of slaves
unable to fight for what they want and who therefore try to get
it through love. Altruism and love for mankind thus have be-

come a sign of degeneration. 16 For Nietzsche it is the essence of

a good and healthy aristocracy that it is ready to sacrifice count-
less people for its interests without having a guilty conscience.

Society should be a "foundation and scaffolding by means of

which a select class of beings may be able to elevate themselves
to their higher duties, and in general to a higher existence." 17
15
Oneof his positive formulations, for example, is: "But how does one use
life? In using it up like the candle one burns. . .
Enjoyment of life is using
.

life up." F. Engels has clearly seen the one-sidedness of Stirner's formulations
and has attempted to overcome the false alternative between love for oneself
and love for others. In a letter to Marx in which he discusses Stirner's book,
Engels writes: "If, however, the concrete and real individual is the true basis
for our 'human' man, it is self-evident that egotism of course not only
Stirner's egotism ot reason, but also the egotism of the heart is the basis for

our love of man." Marx-Engels Gesamrausgabe (Berlin: Marx-Engels Verlag,

1929), p. 6.
16
The Will to Power, trans, by Anthony M. Ludovici
Friedrich Nietzsche,
(Edinburgh and London: T. N. Foulis, 1910), stanzas 246, 326, 369, 373,
and 728.
17
Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, trans, by Helen Zimmer
(New York: The Macmillan Company, 1907), stanza 258.
Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-Interest 325

Many quotations could be added to document this spirit of con-

tempt and egotism. These ideas have often been understood as
the philosophy of Nietzsche. However, they do not represent the
true core of his philosophy. 18
There are various reasons why Nietzsche expressed himself
in the sense noted above. First of all, as with Stirner, his philoso-
phy is a reaction a rebellion against the philosophical tradition
of subordinating the empirical individual to powers and principles
outside himself. His tendency to overstatement shows this reac-
tive quality. Second, there were, in Nietzsche's personality, feel-

ings of insecurity and anxiety that made him emphasize the

"strong man" as a reaction formation. Finally, Nietzsche was
impressed by the theory of evolution and its emphasis on the
"survival of the fittest." This interpretation does not alter the
fact that Nietzsche believed that there is a contradiction between
love for others and love for oneself; yet his views contain the
nucleus from which this false dichotomy can be overcome. The
"love" which he attacks is rooted not in one's own strength, but
in one's own weakness. "Your neighbor-love is your bad love of
yourselves. Yeunto your neighbor from yourselves and
flee
would fain make a But I fathom your 'unselfish-
virtue thereof!
"
ness.' He states explicitly, "You cannot stand yourselves and
19 For
you do not love yourselves sufficiently." Nietzsche the
individual has "an enormously great significance." 20 The "strong"
individual is the one who has "true kindness, nobility, greatness
of soul, which does not give in order to take, which does not
want to excel by being kind; 'waste' as type of true kindness,
wealth of the person as a premise." 21 He expresses the same
thought also in Thus Spake Zarathustra: "The one goeth to his
neighbor because he seeketh himself, and the other because he
would fain lose himself." 22
The essence of this view is this: Love is a phenomenon of

18
C. G. A. Morgan, What Nietzsche Means (Cambridge: Harvard Uni-
versity Press, 1943).
^Friedricn Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra, trans, by Thomas Common
(New York: Modern Library), p. 75.
'

The Will to Power, stanza 785.

21
Ibid, stanza 935.
23
Thes Spalce Zarathustra, p. 76.
326 Erich Fro mm
abundance; itspremise is the strength of the individual who can
give. Love isaffirmation and productiveness, "It seeketh to create
what is loved!" 2S To love another person is only a virtue if it
springs from this inner strength, but it is a vice if it is the expres-
sion of the basic inability to be oneself. 24 However, the fact
remains that Nietzsche left the problem of the relationship be-
tween self-love and love for others as an unsolved antinomy.
The the arch-evil and that to love
doctrine that selfishness is

oneself excludes loving others by no means restricted to the-

is

ology and philosophy, but it became one of the stock ideas

promulgated in home, school, motion pictures, books; indeed
in all instruments of social suggestion as well. "Don't be selfish"
is a sentence which has been impressed upon millions of children,

generation after generation. Its meaning is somewhat vague.

Most people would say that it means not to be egotistical, incon-

siderate, without any concern for others. Actually, it generally

means more than that. Not to be selfish implies not to do what
one wishes, to give up one's own wishes for the sake of those in

authority. "Don't be selfish," in the last analysis, has the same

ambiguity that it has in Calvinism. Aside from its obvious impli-
cation, it means, "don't love yourself," "don't be yourself," but
submit yourself to something more important than yourself, to
an outside power or its internalization, "duty." "Don't be selfish"
becomes one of the most powerful ideological tools in suppressing
spontaneity and the free development of personality. Under the
pressure of this slogan one is asked for every sacrifice and for
complete submission: only those acts are "unselfish" which do
not serve the individual but somebody or something outside him-
self.

This picture, we must repeat, is hi a certain sense one-sided.

For besides the doctrine that one should not be selfish, the op-

positeis also propagandized in modern society: keep your own

advantage in mind, act according to what is best for you; by so

doing you will also be acting for the greatest advantage of all
28
Ibid, p. 102.
24
See Friedrlch Nietzsche, The Twilight of Idols, trans, by A. M. Ludovici
(Edinburgh: T. N. Foulis, 1911), stanza 35; Ecce Homo, trans, by A. M.
Ludovici (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1911), stanza 2; Nachlass.
Nietzsches Wei'ke (Leipzig: A. Kroener), pp. 63-64.
Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self -Interest 327

others. As a matter of fact, the idea that egotism is the basis of

the general welfare is the principle on which competitive society

has been puzzling that two such seemingly contradic-

built. It is

tory principles could be taught side by side in one culture; of the

fact, however, there is no doubt. One result of this contradiction
is confusion in the individual. Torn between the two doctrines,
he is seriously blocked in the process of integrating his person-

ality. This confusion is one of the most significant sources of the

bewilderment and helplessness of modern man. 25
The doctrine that love for oneself is identical with "self-
ishness" and an alternative to love for others has pervaded the-
ology, philosophy, and popular thought; the same doctrine has
been rationalized in scientific language in Freud's theory of
narcissism. Freud's concept presupposes a fixed amount of libido.
In the infant, all of the libido has the child's own person as its
objective, the stage of "primary narcissism," as Freud calls it.
During the individual's development, the libido is shifted from
one's own person towardother objects. If a person is blocked in
his "object-relationships," the libido is withdrawn from the ob-

jects and returned to his own person; this is called "secondary

narcissism." According to Freud, the more love I turn toward the
outside world the less love is left for myself, and vice versa. He
thus describes the phenomenon of love as an impoverishment of
one's self-love because all libido is turned to an object outside
oneself.
These questions arise: Does psychological observation support
the thesis that there is a basic contradiction and a state of alter-
nation between love for oneself and love for others? Is love for
oneself the same phenomenon as selfishness, or are they oppo-
sites? Furthermore, is the selfishness of modern man really a
concern for himself as an individual, with all his intellectual,
emotional, and sensual potentialities? Has "he" not become an
appendage of his socioeconomic role? Is his selfishness identical
with self-love or is it not caused by the very lack of it?

This point has been emphasized by Karen Homey, The Neurotic Person-
35

ality ofOur Time (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1937), and by
Robert S. Lynd, Knowledge for What? (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1939),
328 Erich Fromm
Before we start the discussion of the psychological aspect of
selfishness and self-love, the logical fallacy in the notion that
love for others and love for oneself are mutually exclusive should
be stressed. If it is a virtue to love my neighbor as a human
being, it must be a virtue and not a vice to love myself since
I am a human being too. There is no concept of man in which
I myself am
not included. A
doctrine which proclaims such an
exclusion proves itself to be intrinsically contradictory. The idea

expressed in the Biblical "Love thy neighbor as thyself!" implies

that for one's own integrity and uniqueness, love for and
respect
understanding of one's own self, can not be separated from re-
of another individual. The
spect for and love and understanding
love for my own self is inseparably connected with the love for
any other self.
We have come now to the basic psychological premises on
which the conclusions of our argument are Generally, these
built.

are as follows: dot only others, but we ourselves are

premises
the "object" of our feelings and attitudes; the attitudes toward
others and toward ourselves, far from being contradictory, are
basically conjunctive. With regard to
the problem under discus-
sion this means: Love of others and love of ourselves are not al-
ternatives. On the contrary, an attitude of love toward themselves
will be found in all those who are capable of loving others. Love,
in principle, is indivisible as far as the connection between "ob-
jects" and one's own self is concerned. Genuine love is an expres-
sion of productiveness and implies care, respect, responsibility,
and knowledge. It is not an "affect" in the sense of being affected
by somebody, but an active striving for the growth and happiness
of the loved person, rooted in one's own capacity to love.
To love is an expression of one's power to love, and to love
somebody is the actualization and concentration of this power
with regard to one person. It is not true, as the idea of romantic
love would have it, that there is only the one person in the world
whom one could love and that it is the great chance of one's
life to find that one person. Nor is it true, if that person be found

that love for him (or her) results in a withdrawal of love from
ethers. Love which can only be experienced with regard to one

person demonstrates by this very fact that it is not love, but a

Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-Interest 329

symbiotic attachment. The basic affirmation contained in love

is directed toward the beloved person as an incarnation of
essentially human qualities. Love of one person implies love of man
as such. The kind of "division of labor" as William James calls

it, by which one loves one's family but without feeling for
is

the "stranger," is a sign of a basic inability to love. Love of man

is not, as is frequently supposed, an abstraction coming after
the love for a specific person, but it is its premise, although,
genetically, it is acquired in loving specific individuals.
From this it follows that own self, in principle, must be
my
as much an object of love as another person. The affirmation
my
of one's own life, happiness, growth, freedom, is rooted in one's
capacity to love, Le., in care, respect, responsibility, and knowl-
edge. If an individual is able to love productively, he loves him-
self too; if he can love only others, he can not love at all.
Granted that love for oneself and for others in principle is
conjunctive, how do we explain selfishness, which obviously
excludes any genuine concern for others? The selfish person is
interested only in himself, wants everything for himself, feels
no pleasure in giving, but only in taking. The world outside is
looked at only from the standpoint of what he can get out of it;
he lacks interest in the needs of others, and respect for their
dignity and integrity. He can see nothing but himself; he judges
everyone and everything from its usefulness to him; he is basically
unable to love. Does not this prove that concern for others and
concern for oneself are unavoidable alternatives? This would be
so if selfishness and self-love were identical. But that assumption
is the very fallacy which has led to so many mistaken conclusions

concerning our problem. Selfishness and self-love, far from being

identical, are actually opposites. The selfish person does not love
himself too much but too little;he hates himself. This lack
in fact
of fondness and care for himself, which is only one expression of
his lack of productiveness, leaves him empty and frustrated. He
is necessarily unhappy and anxiously concerned to snatch from

life the satisfactions which he blocks himself from attaining. He

seems to care too much for himself but actually he only makes
an unsuccessful attempt to cover up and compensate for his
failure to care for his real self. Freud holds that the selfish person
330 Erich Fromm
is narcissistic, as if he had withdrawn his love from others and
turned it toward his own person. persons are
It is true that selfish

incapable of loving others, but they are not capable of loving

themselves either.
It is easier to understand selfishness by comparing it with

greedy concern for others, as we find it, for instance, in an over-

solicitous, dominating mother. While she consciously believes
that she is particularly fond of her child, she has actually a deeply
repressed hostility toward the object of her
concern. She is
overconcerned not because she loves the child too much, but
because she has to compensate for her lack of capacity to love
him at all.

This theory of the nature of selfishness is borne out by psycho-

a symptom of
analytic experience with neurotic "unselfishness,"
neurosis observed in not a few people who usually are troubled
not by this symptom but by others connected with it, like de-
in love relationships,
pression, tiredness, inability to work, failure
and so on. Not only is unselfishness not felt as a "symptom"; it
isoften the one redeeming character trait on which such people
pride themselves. The "unselfish" person
"does not want any-
that he
thing for himself"; he "lives only for others," is proud
does not consider himself important. He is puzzled to find that
in spite of his unselfishness he is unhappy, and that his relation-

ships to those closest to him are unsatisfactory. He

wants to have
what he considers are his symptoms removed but not his un-
selfishness. Analytic work shows that his unselfishness is not
something apart from his other symptoms but one of them; in
fact often the most important one; that he is paralyzed in his

capacity to love or to enjoy anything; that he is pervaded by

hostility against life and that behind the fagade of unselfishness
a subtle but not less intense self-centeredness is hidden. This
person can be cured only if his unselfishness too is interpreted
as a symptom along with the others so that his lack of produc-
tiveness, which is at the root of both his unselfishness and his
other troubles, can be corrected.
The nature of unselfishness becomes particularly apparent
in on others and most frequently, in our culture, in the
its effect

effect the "unselfish" mother has on her children. She believes

Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-Interest 331

that by her unselfishness her children will experience what it

means to be loved and to learn, in turn, what it means to love.
The effect of her unselfishness, however, does not at all corre-
spond to her expectations. The children do not show the happiness
of persons who are convinced that they are loved; they are anx-
ious, tense, afraid of the mother's disapproval and anxious to
live up to her expectations. Usually, they are affected by their
mother's hidden hostility against life, which they sense rather
than recognize, and eventually become imbued with it themselves.
Altogether, the effect of the "unselfish" mother is not too differ-
ent from that of the selfish one; indeed, it is often worse because
the mother's unselfishness prevents the children from criticizing
her. They are put under the obligation not to disappoint her;

they are taught, under the mask of virtue, dislike for life. If one
has a chance to study the effect of a mother with genuine self-
love, one can see that there is nothing more conducive to giving
a child the experience of what love, joy, and happiness are than
being loved by a mother who loves herself.
Having analyzed selfishness and self-love we can now proceed
to discuss the concept of self-interest, which has become one of
the key symbols in modern society. It is even more ambiguous
than selfishness or self-love, and this ambiguity can be fully
understood only by taking into account the historical develop-
ment of the concept of self-interest. The problem is what is
considered to constitute self-interest and how it can be deter-
mined.
There are two fundamentally different approaches to this

problem. One the objectivistic approach most clearly formu-

is

lated by Spinoza. To him self-interest or the interest "to seek one's

profit*' is identical with virtue. "The more," he says, "each person

strives andable to seek his profit, that is to say, to preserve Ms
is

being, the more virtue does he possess; on the other hand, in so

26
far as each person neglects his own profit he is impotent."
According to this view, the interest of man is to preserve his
existence, which is the same as realizing his inherent potentiali-
ties. This concept of self-interest is objectivistic inasmuch as

"interest" is not conceived in terms of the subjective feeling of

Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 20.

>
332 Erich Fromm
what is but in terms of what the nature of man is,
one's interest
objectively. Man
has only one real interest and that is the
full

development of Ms potentialities, of himself as a human being.

Just as one has to know another person and his real needs in
order to love him, one has to know one's own self in order to
understand what the interests of this self are and how they can
be served. It follows that man can deceive himself about his real
self-interest if he is ignorant of his self and its real needs and
that the science of man is the basis for determining what con-
stitutes man's self-interest.
In the last three hundred years the concept of self-interest has
almost the op-
increasingly been narrowed until it has assumed
which has in thinking. It has become
posite meaning it Spinoza's
identical with selfishness, with interest in material gains, power,
and success; and instead of its being synonymous with virtue, its
conquest has become an ethical commandment.
This deterioration was made possible by the change from the
to self-
objectivistic into the erroneously subjectivistic approach
interest. Self-interest was no longer to be determined by the na-
ture of man and his needs; correspondingly, the notion that one
could be mistaken about it was relinquished and replaced by the
idea that what a person felt represented the interest of his self
was necessarily his true self-interest.
The modern concept of self-interest is a strange blend of two
contradictory concepts: that of Calvin and Luther on the
one
and on the other, that of the progressive thinkers since
hand,
Spinoza. Calvin and Luther had taught that
man must suppress
Ms self-interest and consider himself only an instrument for God's
purposes. Progressive thinkers, on the contrary,
have taught that
man ought to be only an end for himself and not a means for

any purpose transcending him. What happened was that man has
accepted the contents of the Calvinistic doctrine while rejecting
its religious formulation. He has made himself an instrument,

not of God's will but of the economic macMne or the state. He

has accepted the role of a tool, not for God but for industrial
progress; he has worked and amassed money but essentially
not
for the pleasure of spending it and of enjoying life but in order

to save, to invest, to be successful. Monastic asceticism has been.

Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-Interest 333

as Max Weber has pointed out, replaced by an inner-worldly

asceticism where personal happiness and enjoyment are no longer
the real aims of life. But this attitude was increasingly divorced
from the one expressed in Calvin's concept and blended with
that expressed in the progressive concept of self-interest, which
taught that man had the right and the obligation to make the
pursuit of his self-interest the supreme norm of life. The result
isthat modern man lives according to the principles of self-denial
and thinks in terms of self-interest. He he is acting
believes that
in behalf of his interest when actually his paramount concern is
money and success; he deceives himself about the fact that his
most important human potentialities remain unfulfilled and that
he loses himself in the process of seeking what is supposed to be
best for him.
The deterioration of the
meaning of the concept of self-interest
is closely related to the
change in the concept of self. In the
Middle Ages man felt himself to be an intrinsic part of the social
and religious community in reference to which he conceived his
own self when he as an individual had not yet fully emerged
from his group. Since the beginning of themodern era, when
man was faced with the task of experiencing
as an individual
himself as an independent entity, his own identity became a
problem. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries the concept
of self was narrowed down increasingly; the self was felt to be
constituted by the property one had. The formula for this concept
of self was no longer "I am what I think" but "I am what I
27
have," "what I possess."

^William James expressed this concept very clearly. "To have/' he says,
"a self that I for, Nature must first present me with some object
can care
interesting enough to make me instinctively wish to appropriate it for its own
sake. . . . My
own body and what ministers to its needs are thus the primitive
object, instinctively determined, of my egoistic interests. Other objects may
become interesting derivatively, through association with any of these things,
either as means or as habitual concomitants; and so, in a thousand ways, the
primitive sphere of the egoistic emotions may enlarge and change its bound-
aries.This sort of interest is really the meaning of the word mine. Whatever
has it, is, eo ipso, a part of me!" Principles of Psychology (New York;
Henry Holt and Company, 2 vols., 1896), I, 319, 324. Elsewhere James
writes: "It is clear that between what a man calls rue and what he simply calls

mine, the line is difhcult to draw. We feel and act about certain things that
are ours very much as we feel and act about ourselves. Our fame, our children,
334 Erich Fromm
In the last few generations, under the growing influence of
the market, the concept of self has shifted from meaning "I am
2S
what I possess" to meaning "I am as you desire me." Man,
living in a market economy, feels himself to be a commodity.
He divorced from himself, as the seller of a commodity is
is

divorced from what he wants to sell. To be sure, he is interested

in himself, immensely interested in his success on the market,
but "he" is the manager, the employer, the seller and the com-
of "him"
modity. His self-interest turns out to be the interest
as the subject who employs "himself," as the commodity which
should obtain the optimal price on the personality market.
The "fallacy of self-interest" in modern man has never been
described better than by Ibsen in Peer Gynt. Peer Gynt believes
that his whole life is devoted to the attainment of the interests
of his self. He describes this self as:

"The Gyntian Self!

An army, that, of wishes, appetites, desires!
The Gyntian Self!
It is a sea of fancies, claims and aspirations;
In fact, it's all that swells within my breast
am and &
And makes it come about that I I live as such."

At the end of his life he recognizes that he had deceived him-

self; that while following the principle of "self-interest" hehad
failed to recognize what the interests of his real self were, and
had lost the very self he sought to preserve. He is told that he
never had been himself and that therefore he is to be thrown
back into the melting pot to be dealt with as raw material. He
discovers that he has lived according to the Troll principle: "To

the work of our hands, may be as dear to us as our bodies are, and arouse
the same feelings and the same acts of reprisal if attacked. ... In its widest
possible sense, however, a man's Self is the sum-total of all that
he can call
his, not only his body, and his psychic powers,
but his clothes and his house,
his wife and children, his ancestors and friends, his reputation and works, his
land and horses and yacht and bank account. All these things give him the
same emotions. If they wax or prosper, he feels triumphant, if they dwindle
and die away, he feels cast down not necessarily in the same degree for each
thing, but in much the same way for all." Ibid., I, 291-292.
28
Pirandello in his plays has expressed this concept of self and the self-
doubt resulting from it.

**Loc. cat, Act V, Scene I.

Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-Interest 335

thyselfbe enough" which is the opposite of the human princi-

ple: "To thyself be true." He is seized by the horror of nothing-
ness to which he, who has no self, can not help succumbing
when the props of pseudo self, success, and possessions are taken
away or seriously questioned. He is forced to recognize that in
trying to gain all the wealth of the world, in relentlessly pursuing
what seemed to be his interest, he had lost his soul or, as I
would rather say, his self.
The meaning of the concept of self-interest which
deteriorated
pervades modern society has given rise to attacks on democracy
from the various types of totalitarian ideologies. These claim
that capitalism is morally wrong because it is governed by the
principle of selfishness, and commend the moral superiority of
their own systems by pointing to their principle of the unselfish
subordination of the individual to the "higher" purposes of the
state,the "race," or the "socialist fatherland." They impress not
a few with this criticism because many people feel that there is
no happiness in the pursuit of selfish interest, and are imbued
with a striving, vague though it may be, for a greater solidarity
and mutual responsibility among men.
We need not waste much time arguing against the totalitarian
claims. In the first place, they are insincere since they only dis-

guise the extreme selfishness of an "elite" that wishes to conquer

and retain power over the majority of the population. Their
ideology of unselfishness has the purpose of deceiving those sub-
ject to the control of the elite and of facilitating their exploita-
tion and manipulation. Furthermore, the totalitarian ideologies
confuse the issue by making it appear that they represent the
principle of unselfishness when they apply to the state as a whole
the principle of ruthless pursuit of selfishness. Each citizen ought
to be devoted to the common welfare, but the state is permitted
to pursue its own interest without regard to the welfare of other
nations. But quite aside from the fact that the doctrines of totali-
tarianism are disguises for the most extreme selfishness, they are
a revival in secular language of the religious idea of intrinsic
human powerlessness and impotence and the resulting need for
submission, to overcome which was the essence of modern

spiritual and political progress. Not only do the authoritarian

336 Erich Frotnm

ideologies threaten the most precious achievement

of Western
culture, the for the uniqueness and dignity of the individ-
respect
ual; theyalso tend to block the way to constructive criticism of
modern society, and thereby to necessary changes. The failure
of modern culture lies not in its principle of individualism, not
in the idea that moral virtue is the same as the pursuit of self-
interest, but in the deterioration of the meaning of self-interest;
not in the fact that people are too much concerned with their
self-interest, but that they are not concerned enough
with the
interest of their real self; not in the fact that they are too selfish,
but that they do not love themselves.
If the causes for persevering in the pursuit of a fictitious idea
of self-interest are as deeply rooted in the contemporary social
structure as indicated above, the chances for a change in the
meaning of self-interest would seem to be remote indeed, unless
one can point to specific factors operating in the direction of
change.
Perhaps the most important factor is the inner dissatisfaction
of modern man with the results of his pursuit of "self-interest."
The religion of success is crumbling and becoming a fagade
itself. The social "open spaces" grow narrower; the failure of the

hopes for a better world after the First World War, the depression
at the end of the twenties, the threat of a new and immensely
destructive war so shortly after the Second World War, and the
boundless insecurity resulting from this threat, shake the faith in
the pursuit of this form of self-interest. Aside from these factors,
the worship of success itself has failed to satisfy man's ineradi-
cable striving to be himself. Like so many fantasies and day-
dreams, this one too fulfilled its function only for a time, as
long asit was new, as long as the excitement connected with it
was strong enough to keep man from considering it soberly.
There is an increasing number of people to whom everything

they are doing seems futile. They are still under the spell of the
slogans which preach faith in the secular paradise of success and
glamour. But doubt, the fertile condition of all progress, has be-
gun to beset them and has made them ready to ask what their
real self-interest as human beings is.
This inner disillusionment and the readiness for a revaluation
Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-Interest 337

of self-interest could hardly become effective unless the economic

conditions of our culture permitted it. I have pointed out that
while the canalizing of all human energy into work and the
striving for success was one of the indispensable conditions of
the enormous achievement of modern capitalism, a stage has
been reached where the problem of production has been virtually
solved and where the problem of the organization of social life
has become the paramount task of mankind. Man has created
such sources of mechanical energy that he has freed himself from
the task of putting all his human energy into work in order to
produce the material conditions for living. He could spend a
considerable part of his energy on the task of living itself.
Only if these two conditions, the subjective dissatisfaction
with a culturally patterned aim and the socioeconomic basis for
a change, are present, can an indispensable third factor, rational
insight, become effective. This holds true as a principle of social
and psychological change in general and of the change in the
meaning of self-interest in particular. The time has come when
the anesthetized striving for the pursuit of man's real interest is
coming to life again. Once man knows what his self-interest is,
the first, and the most difficult, step to its realization has been
taken.
 21

ERICH FROMM

Character*

1. The Dynamic Concept of Character

Character traits were and are considered by behavioristically

orientated psychologists to be synonymous with behavior traits.
From this standpoint character is defined as "the pattern of
l
behavior characteristic for a given individual," while other
authors like William McDougall, R. G. Gordon, and Kretschmer
have emphasized the conative and dynamic element of character
traits.

Freud developed not only the first but also the most consistent
and penetrating theory of character as a system of strivings
which underlie, but are not identical with, behavior. In order to

appreciate Freud's dynamic concept of character,

a comparison
between behavior traits and character traits will be helpful.

Behavior traits are described in terms of actions which are ob-

servable by a third person. Thus, for instance, the behavior trait

"being courageous" would be defined as behavior which is

directed toward reaching a certain goal without being deterred

by risks to one's comfort, freedom, or life. Or parsimony as a

behavior would be defined as behavior which aims at saving
trait

money or other material things. However, if we inquire into the

motivation and particularly into the unconscious motivation of
*
From Man for Himself An Inquiry into the Psychology of Ethics, by
:

Erich Fromm, Copyright 1947 by Erich Fromm, reprinted by permission of

Rinehart & Co., Inc. and Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd.
1
Leland E. Hinsie and Jacob Shatzky, Psychiatric Dictionary. (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1940.)

338
Character 339

such behavior traits we find that the behavior trait covers numer-
ous and entirely different character traits. Courageous behavior
may be motivated by ambition so that a person will risk his life
in craving for being
certain situations in order to satisfy his
admired; itbe motivated by suicidal impulses which drive a
may
person to seek danger because, consciously or unconsciously, he
does not value his life and wants to destroy himself; it may be
motivated by sheer lack of imagination so that a person acts
courageously because he is not aware of the danger awaiting
him; finally, it may be determined by genuine devotion to the
idea or aim for which a person acts, a motivation which is con-
ventionally assumed to be the basis of courage. Superficially the
behavior in all these instances is the same in spite of the different

motivations. I say "superficially" because if one can observe such

behavior minutely one finds that the difference in motivation
results also in subtle differences in behavior. An officer in battle,
for instance, will behave quite differently in different situations
if his courage is motivated by devotion to an idea rather than by

ambition. In the first case he would not attack in certain situa

tions if the risks are in no proportion to the tactical ends to be
gained. If, on the other hand, he is driven by vanity, this passion
may make him blind to the dangers threatening him and his
soldiers. His behavior trait "courage" in the latter case is ob-

viously a very ambiguous asset. Another illustration is parsimony.

A person may be economical because his economic circum-

stances make it necessary; or he may be parsimonious because
he has a stingy character, which makes saving an aim for its

own sake regardless of the realistic necessity. Here, too, the

motivation would make some difference with regard to behavior
itself. In the first would be very well able to
case, the person
discern a situation where wise to save from one in which
it is

it is wiser to spend money. In the latter case he will save regard-

less of the objective need for it. Another factor which is deter-
mined by the difference in motivation refers to the prediction of
behavior. In the case of a "courageous" soldier motivated by
ambition we may predict that he will behave courageously only
if his courage can be rewarded. In the case of the soldier who is
340 Erich Fromm

courageous because of devotion to his cause we can predict that

the question of whether or not his courage will find recognition
will have little influence on his behavior.

Closely related to Freud's concept of unconscious motivation

ishis theory of the conative nature of character traits. He recog-
nized something that the great novelists and dramatists had al-
ways known: that, as Balzac put it, the study of character deals
u
with the forces by which man is motivated"; that the way a
person acts, feels, and thinks is to a large extent determined by
the specificity of his character and not merely the result of
is

rational responses to realistic situations; that "man's fate is his

character." Freud recognized the dynamic quality of character
traits and that the character structure of a person represents a

particular form in which energy is canalized in the process of

living.
Freud tried to account for this dynamic nature of character
traits his characterology with his libido theory. In
by combining
accordance with the type of materialistic thinking prevalent in
the natural sciences of the late nineteenth century, which assumed
the energy in natural and psychical phenomena to be a sub-
stantial not a relational entity, Freud believed that the sexual
drive was the source of energy of the character. By a number of
complicated and brilliant assumptions he explained different
character traits as "sublimations" of, or "reaction formations"
against, the various forms of the sexual drive. He interpreted
the dynamic nature of character traits as an expression of their
libidinous source.
The progress of psychoanalytic theory led, in line with the
progress of the natural and social sciences, to a new concept
which was based, not on the idea of a primarily isolated individ-
ual, but on the relationship of man to others, to nature, and to
himself. It was assumed that this very relationship governs and
regulates the energy manifest in the passionate strivings of man.
H. S. Sullivan, one of the pioneers of this new view, has accord-
ingly defined psychoanalysis as a "study of interpersonal rela-
tions."
The theory presented in the following pages follows Freud's
characterology in essential points: in the assumption that charac-
Character 341

ter traits underlie behavior and must be inferred from it; that
they constitute forces which, though powerful, the person may
be entirely unconscious of. It follows Freud also in the assump-
tion that the fundamental entity in character is not the single
character trait but the total character organization from which
a number of single character traits follow. These character traits
are to be understood as a syndrome which results from a particu-
lar organization or, as I shall call it, orientation of character.
I shall deal only with a very limited number of character traits
which follow immediately from the underlying orientation. A
number of other character traits could be dealt with similarly, and
it could be shown that they are also direct outcomes of basic

orientations or mixtures of such primary traits of character with

those of temperament. However, a great number of others con-
ventionally listed as character traits would be found to be not
character traits in our sense but pure temperament or mere be-
havior traits.

The main difference in theory of character proposed here

from that of Freud is that the fundamental basis of character

is not seen in various types of libido organization but in specific

kinds of a person's relatedness to the world. In the process of
living, man relates himself to the world (1) by acquiring and
assimilating things, and (2) by relating himself to people (and
himself). The former I shall call the process of assimilation;
the latter, that of socialization. Both forms of relatedness are
"open" and not, as with the animal, instinctively determined.
Man can acquire things by receiving or taking them from an out-
side source or by producing them through his own effort. But
he must acquire and assimilate them in some fashion in order to
satisfy his needs. Also, man cannot live alone and unrelated to
others. He has to associate with others for defense, for work,
for sexual satisfaction, for play, for the upbringing of the young,
for the transmission of knowledge and material possessions. But
beyond that, it is necessary for him to be related to others, one
with them, part of a group. Complete isolation is unbearable and
incompatible with sanity. Again man can relate himself to others
in various ways: he can love or hate, he can compete or cooper-
ate? he can build a social system based on equality or authority,
342 Erich Fromm
liberty or oppression;but he must be related in some fashion
and the particular form of relatedness is expressive of his char-
acter.
These orientations, by which the individual relates himself to
the world, constitute the core of his character; character can be
defined as the (relatively permanent) form in which human energy
iscanalized in the process of assimilation and socialization. This
canalization of psychic energy has a very significant biological
function. Since man's actions are not determined by innate instinc-
would be precarious, indeed, if he had to make
tual patterns, life
a deliberate decision each time he acted, each time he took a
step.On the contrary, many actions must be performed far more
quickly than conscious deliberation allows. Furthermore, if all
behavior followed from deliberate decision, many more incon-
sistencies in action would occur than are compatible with proper
functioning. According to behavioristic thinking, man learns to
react in a semiautomatic fashion by developing habits of action
and thought which can be understood in terms of conditioned
reflexes. While this view is correct to a certain extent, it ignores
the fact that the most deeply rooted habits and opinions which
are characteristic of a person and resistant to change grow from
his character structure: they are expressive of the particular form
in which energy has been canalized in the character structure.
The character system can be considered the human substitute for
the instinctive apparatus of the animal. Once energy is canalized
in a certain way, action takes place "true to character." A
particular character may be undesirable ethically, but at least it
permits a person to act fairly consistently and to be relieved of
the burden of having to make a new and deliberate decision
every
time. He
can arrange his life in a way which is geared to his
character and thus create a certain degree of compatibility be-
tween the inner and the outer situation. Moreover, character
has also a selective function with regard to a person's ideas and
values. Since to most people ideas seem to be independent of
their emotions and wishes and the result of logical
deduction,
they feel that their attitude toward the world is confirmed
by
their ideas and judgments when actually these are as much a
result of their character as their actions are. This confirmation in
Character 343

turn tends to stabilize their character structure since it makes

the latter appear right and sensible.
Not only has character the function of permitting the individ-
ual to act consistently and "reasonably"; it is also the basis for
his adjustment to society. The character of the child is molded
by the character of its parents in response to whom it develops.
The parents and their methods of child training in turn are
determined by the social structure of their culture. The average
family is the "psychic agency" of society, and by adjusting him-
self to his family the child acquires the character which later
makes him adjusted to the tasks he has to perform in social life.
He acquires that character which makes him want to do what
he has to do and the core of which he shares with most members
of the same social class or culture. The fact that most members
of a social class or culture share significant elements of character
and that one can speak of a "social character" representing the
core of a character structure common to most people of a given
culture shows the degree to which character is formed by social
and cultural patterns. But from the social character we must
differentiate the individual character inwhich one person differs
from another within the same culture. These differences are partly
due to the differences of the personalities of the parents and to
the differences, psychic and material, of the specific social envi-
ronment in which the child grows up/But they are also due to
the constitutional differences of each individual, particularly those
of temperament. Genetically, the formation of individual charac-
ter is determined by the impact of its life experiences, the individ-
ual ones and those which follow from the culture, on temperament
and physical constitution. Environment is never the same for two
people, for the difference in constitution makes them experience

the same environment in a more or less different way. Mere

habits of action and thought which develop as the result of an
individual's conforming with the cultural pattern and which are
not rooted in the character of a person are easily changed under
the influence of new social patterns. If, on the other hand, a
person's behavior is rooted in his character, it is charged with
energy and changeable only if a fundamental change in a per-
son's character takes place.
344 Erich Fromm
In the following analysis nonproductive orientations are differ-
entiated from the productive orientation. It must be noted that
these concepts are "ideal-types," not descriptions of the charac-
ter of a given individual. Furthermore, while, for didactic pur-

poses, they are treated here separately, the

character of any
is usually a blend of all or some of these orienta-
given person
tions hi which one, however, is dominant. Finally, I want to state
here that in the description of the nonproductive orientations
only their negative aspects are presented, while their positive
aspects are discussed briefly in a later part
of this chapter. 2

2, Types f Characters The Nonproductive Orientations

<j) The receptive orientation

In the receptive orientation a person feels "the source of all

good" to be outside, and he believes that the only way to get what
tie wants be it something material, be it affection, love, knowl-
edge, pleasure is to receive it from that outside source. In this

orientation the problem of love is almost exclusively that of

"being loved" and not that of loving. Such people tend to be
indiscriminate in the choice of their love objects, because being
loved by anybody is such an overwhelming experience for them
that they "fall for" anybody who gives them love or what looks
like love. They are exceedingly sensitive to any withdrawal or
rebuff they experience on the part of the loved person. Their
orientation is the same in the sphere of thinking: if intelligent,
they make the best listeners, since their orientation is one of
left to themselves, they feel
receiving, not of producing, ideas;
of these people that their first
paralyzed. It is characteristic
thought is to find somebody else to give them needed information
rather than to make even the smallest effort of their own. If
religious, these persons
have a concept of God in which they
expect everything from God and nothing from their
own activity.
pp. 112E [of Man for Himself]. The following description of the
2 See

non-productive orientations, except that of the marketing, follows the clinical

picture of the pregenital character given by
Freud and others. The theoretical
difference becomes apparent in the discussion of the hoarding character.
Character 345

If not religious, their relationship to persons or institutions is

very much the same; they are always in search of a "magic
helper." They show a particular kind of loyalty, at the bottom
of which is the gratitude for the hand that feeds them and the
fear of ever losing it. Since they need many hands to feel secure /
they have to be loyal to numerous people. It is difficult for them
to say "no," and they are easily caught between conflicting

loyalties and promises. Since they cannot say "no," they love
to say "yes" to everything and everybody, and the resulting
paralysis of their critical abilities makes them increasingly de-
pendent on others.
They are dependent not only on authorities for knowledge and
help but on people in general for any kind of support. They feel
lost when alone because they feel that they cannot do anything
without help. This helplessness is especially important with regard
to those acts which by their very nature can only be done alone
making decisions and taking responsibility. In personal relation-
ships, for instance, they ask advice from the very person with
regard to whom they have to make a decision.
This receptive type has great fondness for food and drink.
These persons tend to overcome anxiety and depression by
eating or drinking. The mouth is an especially prominent feature,
often the most expressive one; the lips tend to be open, as if in
a state of continuous expectation of being fed. In their dreams,
being fed is a frequent symbol of being loved; being starved, an

expression of frustration or disappointment.

By and large, the outlook of people of this receptive orienta-
tion optimistic and friendly; they have a certain confidence in
is

life and its gifts, but they become anxious and distraught when

their "source of supply" is threatened. They often have a genuine

warmth and a wish to help others, but doing things for others
also assumes the function of securing their favor.

b) The exploitative orientation

The
exploitative orientation, like the receptive, has as its basic
premise the feeling that the source of all good is outside, that
whatever one wants to get must be sought there, and that one
346 Erich Fromm
cannot produce anything oneself. The difference between the
two, however, is that the exploitative type does not expect to
receive things from others as gifts, but to take them away from
others by force or cunning. This orientation extends to all spheres
of activity.
In the realm of love and affection these people tend to grab
and steal.They feel attracted only to people whom they can take

away from somebody else. Attractiveness to them is conditioned

not to fall
by a person's attachment to somebody else; they tend
in love with an unattached person.
We same attitude with regard to thinking and intellec-
find the
tual pursuits.Such people will tend not to produce ideas but to
steal them. This may be done directly in the form of plagiarism
or more subtly by repeating in different phraseology the ideas
voiced by others and insisting they are new and their own. It is
a striking fact that frequently people with great intelligence pro-
ceed in this way, although if they relied on their own gifts they
might well be able to have ideas of their own. The lack of orig-
inal ideas or independent production in otherwise gifted people
often has its explanation in this character orientation, rather than
in any innate lack of originality. The same statement holds true
with regard to their orientation to material things. Things which
they can take away from others always seem better to them than
anything they can produce themselves. They use and exploit
anybody and anything from whom or from which they can
squeeze something. Their motto is: "Stolen fruits axe sweetest."
Because they want to use and exploit people, they "love" those
who, explicitly or implicitly, are promising objects of exploitation,
and get "fed up" with persons whom they have squeezed out.
An extreme example is the kleptomaniac who enjoys things only
if he can steal them, although he has the money to buy them.

This orientation seems to be symbolized by the biting mouth

which is often a prominent feature in such people. It is not a
play upon words to point out that they often make "biting"
remarks about others. Their attitude is colored by a mixture of
hostility and manipulation. Everyone is an object of exploitation
and is judged according to his usefulness. Instead of the confi-

dence and optimism which characterizes the receptive type, one

Character 347

finds here suspicion and cynicism, envy and jealousy. Since they
are satisfied only with things they can take away from others, they
tend to overrate what others have and underrate what is theirs.

c) The hoarding orientation

While the receptive and exploitative types are similar inasmuch

as both expect to get things from the outside world, the hoarding
orientation is essentially different. This orientation makes people
have little faith in anything new they might get from the outside

world; their security is based upon hoarding and saving, while

spending is felt to be a threat. They have surrounded themselves,
as it were, by a protective wall, and their main aim is to bring as
much as possible into this fortified position and to let as little
as possible out of it. Their miserliness refers to money and
material things as well as to feelings and thoughts. Love is es-
sentially a possession; they do not give love but try to get it by
possessing the "beloved." The hoarding person often shows a
particular kind of faithfulness toward people and even toward
memories. Their sentimentality makes the past appear as golden;
they hold on to it and indulge in the memories of bygone feelings
and experiences. They know everything but are sterile and in-

capable of productive thinking.

One can recognize these people too by facial expressions and
gestures. Theirs is the tight-lipped mouth; their gestures are
characteristic of their withdrawn attitude. While those of the
receptive type are inviting and round, as it were, and the gestures
of the exploitative type are aggressive and pointed, those of the
hoarding type are angular, as if they wanted to emphasize the
frontiers between themselves and the outside world. Another
characteristic element in this attitude is pedantic orderliness. The
hoarder be orderly with things, thoughts, or feelings, but
will

again, as with memory, his orderliness is sterile and rigid. He

cannot endure things out of place and will automatically rear-
range them. To him the outside world threatens to break into his
fortified position; orderliness signifies mastering the world outside

by putting it, and keeping it, in its proper place in order to avoid
the danger of intrusion. His compulsive cleanliness is another
348 Erich Fromm

expression of Ms need to undo contact with the outside world.

Things beyond his own frontiers are felt to be dangerous and
"unclean"; he annuls the menacing contact by compulsive wash-
ing, similar to a religious washing
ritual prescribed after contact

with unclean things or people. Things have to be put not only

in their proper place but also into their proper time; obsessive
it is another
punctuality is characteristic of the hoarding type;
form of mastering the outside world. If the outside world is
is a
experienced as a threat to one's fortified position, obstinacy
logical reaction. A
constant "no" is the almost automatic defense
to the danger of being
against intrusion; sitting tight, the answer
pushed. These people tend to feel that they possess only a fixed
quantity of strength, energy, or mental capacity,
and that this
stock is diminished or exhausted by use and can never be re-
the self-replenishing function
plenished. They cannot understand
of all living substance and that activity and the use of one's
powers increase strength while stagnation paralyzes; to them,
death and destruction have more reality than life and growth.
The act of creation is a miracle of which they hear but in which
they do not believe. Their highest values are order
and security;
their motto: "There is nothing new under the sun." In their

relationship to others intimacy is a threat; either remoteness or

possession of a person means security. The hoarder

tends to be

suspicious and to have a particular sense of justice which in

effect says: "Mine is mine and yours is yours."

d) The marketing orientation

The marketing orientation developed as a dominant one only

in the modern era. In order to understand its nature one must

consider the economic function of the market in modern society

as being not only analogous to this character orientation but as
the basis and the main condition for its development in modern
man.
Barter is one of the oldest economic mechanisms. The tradi-
tional local market, however, is essentially different from the
market as it has developed in modern capitalism. Bartering on
Character 349

a local market offered an opportunity to meet for the purpose of

exchanging commodities. Producers and customers became ac-
quainted; they were relatively small groups; the demand was
more or less known, so that the producer could produce for this
specific demand.
The modern market3 is no longer a meeting place but a
mechanism characterized by abstract and impersonal demand.
One produces for this market, not for a known circle of cus-
tomers; its verdict is based on laws of supply and demand; and
it determines whether the
commodity can be sold and at what
price. No matter what the use value of a pair of shoes may be,
for instance, if the supply is greater than the demand, some
shoes will be sentenced to economic death; they might as well
not have been produced at all. The market day is the "day of
judgment" as far as the exchange value of commodities is con-

cerned.
The reader may object that this description of the market is

The producer does

oversimplified. try to judge the demand in

advance, and under monopoly conditions even obtains a certain

degree of control over it. Nevertheless, the regulatory function
of the market has been, and still is, predominant enough to have
a profound influence on the character formation of the urban
middle class and, through the latter's social and cultural influence,
on the whole population. The market concept of value, the em-
phasis on exchange value rather than on use value, has led to a
similar concept of value with regard to people and particularly
to oneself. The character orientation which is rooted in the

experience of oneself as a commodity and of one's value as

exchange value I call the marketing orientation.
In our time the marketing orientation has been growing rapidly,
together with the development of a new market that is a phe-
nomenon of the last decades the "personality market." Clerks
and salesmen, business executives and doctors, lawyers and art-
ists all appear on this market. It is true that their legal status and

economic positions are different: some are independent, charging

8
Cf., for the study of history and function of the modern market, K
Polanyi's TJfie Great Transformation (New York: Rinehart & Company, 1944).
350 Erich Fromm
for their services; others are employed, receiving salaries. But all
are dependent for their material success on a personal acceptance
by those who need their services or who employ them.
The principle of evaluation is the same on both the personality
and the commodity market: on the one, personalities are offered
for sale; on the other, commodities. Value in both cases is their
exchange value, for which use value is a necessary but not a
sufficient condition. It is true, our economic system could not
function if people were not skilled in the particular work they
have to perform and were gifted only with a pleasant personality.
Even the best bedside manner and the most beautifully equipped
office on Park Avenue would not make a New York doctor suc-
cessful if he did Dot have a minimum of medical knowledge and
skill. Even the most winning personality would not prevent a

secretary from losing her job unless she could type reasonably
fast. However, if we ask what the respective weight of skill and

personality as a condition for success is,

we find that only in
exceptional cases is success predominantly the result of skill and
of certain other human qualities like honesty, decency, and
integrity. Although the proportion between skill and human
qualities on the one hand and "personality" on the
other hand
1

as prerequisites for success varies, the "personality factor' always

plays a decisive role. Success depends largely on how well a

person sells himself on the market, how well he gets his person-
ality across, how nice a "package" he is; whether he is "cheer-
ful," "sound," "aggressive," "reliable," "ambitious"; furthermore
what his family background is, what clubs he belongs to, and
whether he knows the right people. The type of personality re-
quired depends to some degree on the special field in which a
person works. A
stockbroker, a salesman, a secretary, a railroad
executive, a college professor, or a hotel manager must each
offer different kinds of personality that, regardless of their
differences, mustone condition: to be in demand.
fulfill

The have success it is not sufficient to

fact that in order to
have the skill and equipment for performing a given task but
that one must be able to "put across" one's personality in com-
petition with many others shapes the attitude toward oneself. If
it were enough for the purpose of making a living to rely on
Character 351

what one knows and what one can do, one's self-esteem would
be in proportion to one's capacities, that is, to one's use value;
but since success depends largely on how one sells one's person-
ality, one experiences oneself as a commodity or rather simul-

taneously as the seller and the commodity to be sold. A

person is
not concerned with his life and happiness, but with becoming
salable. This feeling might be compared to that of a commodity,
of handbags on a counter, for instance, could they feel and
think. Each handbag would try to make itself as "attractive" as

possible in order to attract customers and to look as expensive

as possible in order to obtain a higher price than its rivals. The
handbag sold for the highest price would feel elated, since that
would mean it was the most "valuable" one; the one which was
not sold would feel sad and convinced of its own worthlessness.
This fate might befall a bag which, though excellent in appear-
ance and usefulness, had the bad luck to be out of date because
of a change in fashion.
Like the handbag, one has to be in fashion on the personality
market, and in order to be in fashion one has to know what kind
of personality is most in demand. This knowledge is transmitted
in a general way throughout the whole process of education,
from kindergarten to college, and implemented by the family. The
knowledge acquired at this early stage is not sufficient, however;
it emphasizes only certain general qualities like adaptability,
ambition, and sensitivity to the changing expectations of other
people. The more specific picture of the models for success one
gets elsewhere. The pictorial magazines, newspapers, and news-
reels show the pictures and life stories of the successful in many
variations. Pictorial advertising has a similar function. The suc-
cessful executive who is pictured in a tailor's advertisement is
the image of how one should look and be, if one is to draw down
the "big money" on the contemporary personality market.
The most important means of transmitting the desired person-
ality pattern to the average man is the motion picture. The
young girl tries to emulate the facial expression, coiffure, gestures
of a high-priced star as the most promising way to success. The
young man tries to look and be like the model he sees on the
screen. While the average citizen has little contact with the life
352 Erich Fromm
of the most successful people, Ms relationship with the motion-
picture stars is different. It is true that he has no real contact
with them either, but he can see them on the screen again and
again, can write them and receive their autographed pictures.
In contrast to the time when the actor was socially despised but
was nevertheless the transmitter of the works of great poets to
his audience, our motion-picture stars have no great works or
ideas to transmit, but their function is to serve as the link an
average person has with the world of the "great." Even if he
can not hope to become as successful as they are, he can try to
emulate them; they are his saints and because of their success
they embody the norms for living.
Since modern man experiences himself both as the seller and
as the commodity to be sold on the market, his self-esteem de-

pends on conditions beyond his control. If he is "successful," he

is valuable; if he is not, he is worthless. The degree of insecurity

which results from this orientation can hardly be overestimated.

If one feels that one's own value is not constituted primarily

by the human qualities one possesses, but by one's success on a

competitive market with ever-changing conditions, one's self-
esteem is bound to be shaky and in constant need of confirma-
tion by others. Hence one is driven to strive relentlessly for suc-
cess, and any setback is a severe threat to one's self-esteem;
helplessness, insecurity, and inferiority feelings are the result.
If the vicissitudes of the market are the judges of one's value,
the sense of dignity and pride is destroyed.
But the problem is not only that of self-evaluation and self-
esteem but of one's experience of oneself as an independent en-
tity,of one's identity with oneself. As we shall see later, the
mature and productive individual derives his feeling of identity
from the experience of himself as the agent who is one with his
powers; this feeling of self can be briefly expressed as meaning
"/ am what I do." In the marketing orientation man encounters
his own powers as commodities alienated from him. He is not
one with them but they are masked from him because what
matters is not his self-realization in the process of using them

but his success in the process of selling them. Both his powers
and what they create become estranged, something different from
Character 353

himself, something for others to judge and to use; thus Ms feel-

ing of identity becomes as shaky as his self-esteem; it is consti-
tuted by the sum total of roles one can play: "I am as you desire
me."
Ibsen has expressed this state of selfhood in Peer Gynt: Peer
Gynt tries to discover his self and he finds that he is like an
onion one layer after the other can be peeled off and there is
no core to be found. Since man cannot live doubting his identity,
he must, in the marketing orientation, find the conviction of
identity not in reference to himself and his powers but in the
opinion of others about him. His prestige, status, success, the fact
that he is known to others as being a certain person are a sub-
stitute for the genuine feeling of identity. This situation makes
him utterly dependent on the way others look at him and forces
him to keep up the role in which he once had become successful.
If I and my powers are separated from each other then, indeed,
is my self constituted by the price I fetch.
The way one experiences others is not different from the way
one experiences oneself. 4 Others are experienced as commodities
like oneself; they too do not present themselves but their salable

part. The difference between people is reduced to a merely quanti-

tative difference of being more or less successful, attractive, hence
valuable. This process is not different from what happens to
commodities on the market. A
painting and a pair of shoes can
be expressed in, and reduced to, their exchange value, their
price; so many pairs of shoes are "equal" to one painting. In the
same way the difference between people is reduced to a common
element, their price on the market. Their individuality, that which
is peculiar and unique in them, is valueless and, in fact, a ballast.

The meaning which the word peculiar has assumed is quite ex-
pressive of this attitude. Instead of denoting the greatest achieve-
ment of man that of having developed his individuality it has
become almost synonymous with queer. The word equality has
also changed its meaning. The idea that all men are created equal
implied that all men have the same fundamental right to
be
considered as ends in themselves and not as means. Today,

*The fact that relationship to oneself and to others is conjunctive will be

explained in Chapter IV [of Man for Himself].
354 Erich Fromm
equality has become equivalent to interchangeability and is the ,

very negation of individuality. Equality, instead of being the

condition for the development of each man's peculiarity, means
the extinction of individuality, the "selflessness" characteristic of
the marketing orientation. Equality was conjunctive with dif-
ference, but it has become synonymous with "in-difference" and,
indeed, indifference is what characterizes modern man's relation-
ship to himself and to others.
These conditions necessarily color all human relationships.

When the individual self is neglected, the relationships between

people must of necessity become superficial, because not they
themselves but interchangeable commodities are related. People
are not able and cannot afford to be concerned with that which
is unique and "peculiar" in each other. However, the market
creates a kind of comradeship of its own. Everybody is involved
in the same battle of competition, shares the same striving for
success; allmeet under the same conditions of the market (or
at least believethey do). Everyone knows how the others feel
because each is in the same boat: alone, afraid to fail, eager to
please; no quarter is given or expected in this battle.
The superficial character of human relationships leads many
to hope that they can find depth and intensity of feeling in in-
dividual love. But love for one person and love for one's neigh-
bor are indivisible; in any given culture, love relationships are

only a more intense expression of the relatedness to man prev-

alent in that culture. Hence it is an illusion to expect that the
loneliness of man rooted in the marketing orientation can be
cured by individual love.
Thinking as well as feeling is determined by the marketing
orientation. Thinking assumes the function of grasping things

quickly so as to be able to manipulate them successfully.

Furthered by widespread and efficient education, this leads to
a high degree of intelligence, but not of reason. 5 For manipu-
lative purposes^ all that is necessary to know is the surface fea-
tures of things, the superficial. The truth, to be uncovered by

penetrating to the essence of phenomena, becomes an obsolete

5
The difference between intelligence and reason will be discussed later on,
pp. 96 ff.
[of Man for Himself].
Character 355

concept truth not only in the prescientific sense of "absolute"

truth, dogmatically maintained without reference to empirical
data, but also in the sense of truth attained by man's reason ap-
plied to his observations and open to revisions. Most intelligence
tests areattuned to this kind of thinking; they measure not so
much the capacity for reason and understanding as the capacity
for quick mental adaptation to a given situation; "mental ad-
6
justment tests" would be the adequate name for them. For this
kind of thinking the application of the categories of comparison
and of quantitative measurement rather than a thorough analy-
sis of a given phenomenon and its quality is essential. All prob-

lems are equally "interesting" and there is little sense of the

respective differences in their importance. Knowledge itself be-
comes a commodity. Here, too, man is alienated from his own
power; thinking and knowing are experienced as a tool to pro-
duce results. Knowledge of man himself, psychology, which in
the great tradition of Western thought was held to be the con-
dition for virtue, for right living, for happiness, has degenerated
into an instrument to be used for better manipulation of others
and oneself, in market research, in political propaganda, in ad-
vertising, and so on.
Evidently this type of thinking has a profound effect on our
educational system. From grade school to graduate school, the
aim of learning is to gather as much information as possible that
is mainly useful for the purposes of the market. Students are

supposed to learn so many things that they have hardly time and
energy left to think. Not the interest in the subjects taught or in
knowledge and insight as such, but the enhanced exchange value
knowledge gives is the mam incentive for wanting more and
better education. We find today a tremendous enthusiasm for
knowledge and education, but at the same time a skeptical or
contemptuous attitude toward the allegedly impractical and use-
less thinking which is concerned "only" with the truth and which
has no exchange value on the market.
Although I have presented the marketing orientation as one
8
Cf. Ernest Schachtel, "Zum Begriff und zur Diagnosis der Persoenlichkeit
in 'Personality Tests' [On the Concept and Diagnosis of Personality Tests]/*
Zeitschrift fuer Sozialforschirag (Jahrgang 6, 1937), pp. 597-624.
356 Erich Fromm
of the nonproductive orientations, it is in many ways so different
that it belongs in a category of its own. The receptive, exploita-

tive, and hoarding orientations have one thing in common: each

is one form of human relatedness which, if dominant in a person,
is specific of him and characterizes him. (Later on it will be

shown that these four orientations do not necessarily have the

7
negative qualities which have been described so far. ) The mar-
keting orientation, however, does not develop something which
is potentially in the person (unless we make the absurd assertion

that "nothing" is also part of the human equipment) its very

;

nature is that no specific and permanent kind of relatedness is

developed, but that the very changeability of attitudes is the
only permanent quality of such orientation. In this orientation,
those qualities are developed which can best be sold. Not one
particular attitude is predominant, but the emptiness which can
be most quickly with the desired quality. This quality,
filled

however, ceases to be one in the proper sense of the word; it is

only a role, the pretense of a quality, to be readily exchanged if
another one is more desirable. Thus, for instance, respectability is
sometimes desirable. The salesmen in certain branches of business
ought to impress the public with those qualities of reliability,
soberness, and respectability which were genuine in many a
businessman of the nineteenth century. Now one looks for a
man who instills confidence because he looks as if he had these
qualities; what this man sells on the personality market is his
ability to look the part; what kind of person is behind that role
does not matter and is nobody's concern. He himself is not in-
terested in his honesty, but in what it gets for him on the market.
The premise of the marketing orientation is emptiness, the lack of
any specific quality which could not be subject to change, since
any persistent trait of character might conflict some day with
the requirements of the market. Some roles would not fit in with
the peculiarities of the person; therefore we must do away
with them not with the roles but with the peculiarities. The
marketing personality must be free, free of all individuality.
The character orientations which have been described so far
are by no means as separate from one another as it may appear
7
[Man for Himself], pp. 1125.
Character 357

from this The receptive orientation, for instance, may be

sketch.
dominant in a person but it is usually blended with any or all
of the other orientations. While I shall discuss the various blend-
ings later on in this chapter, I want to stress at this point that
all orientations are part of the human equipment, and the domi-

nance of any orientation depends to a large extent on the

specific
peculiarity of the culture in which the individual lives. Although
a more detailed analysis of the relationship between the various
orientations and social patterns must be reserved for a study
which deals primarily with problems of social psychology, I
should like to suggest here a tentative hypothesis as to the social
conditions making for the dominance of any of the four non-
productive types. It should be noted that the significance of the
study of the correlation between character orientation and social
structure lies not only in the fact that it helps us understand some
of the most significant causes for the formation of character, but
also in the fact that specific orientations inasmuch as they are
common most members of a culture or social class represent
to

powerful emotional forces the operation of which we must know

in order to understand the functioning of society. In view of the
current emphasis on the impact of culture on personality, I should
like to state that the relationship between society and the indi-

vidual not to be understood simply in the sense that cultural

is

patterns and social institutions "influence" the individual. The

interaction goes much deeper; the whole personality of the aver-
age individual is molded by the way people relate to each other,
and it is determined by the socioeconomic and political structure
of society to such an extent that, in principle, one can infer from
the analysis of one individual the totality of the social structure
in which he lives.

Thereceptive orientation is often to be found in societies in

which the right of one group to exploit another is firmly estab-
lished. Since the exploited group has no power to change, or any
idea of changing, its situation, up to its masters
it will tend to look

as to its providers, as to those whom

one receives every-
from
thing life can give. No matter how little the slave receives, he
feels that by his own effort he could have acquired even less^
since the structure of his societv impresses him with the fact that
358 Erich Fromrn

he unable to organize it and to rely on his own activity and

is

reason. As far as contemporary American culture is concerned,

it seems at first glance that the receptive attitude is entirely ab-

sent. Our whole culture, its ideas, and its practice discourage the

receptive orientation and emphasize that each one has to look

out, and be responsible, for himself and that he has to use his
own initiative if he wants to "get anywhere." However, while the
receptive orientation is discouraged, it is by no means absent.
The need to to please, which has been discussed in
conform and
the foregoing pages, leads to the feeling of helplessness, which
is the root of subtle receptiveness in modern man. It appears par-

ticularly in the attitude toward the "expert" and public opinion.

People expect that in every field there is an expert who can tell

them how things are and how they ought to be done, and that all
they ought to do is listen to him and swallow his ideas. There are
experts for science, experts for happiness, and writers become
experts in the art of living by the very fact that they are authors
of best sellers. This subtle but rather general receptiveness as-

sumes somewhat grotesque forms in modern "folklore," fostered

particularly by advertising. While everyone knows that realisti-
cally the "get-rich-quick" schemes do not work, there is a wide-
spread daydream of the effortless life. It is partly expressed in
connection with the use of gadgets; the car which needs no
shifting, the fountain pen which saves the trouble of removing
the cap are only random examples of this phantasy. It is particu-
larly prevalent in those schemes which deal with happiness. A
very characteristic quotation is the following: "This book," the
author says, "tells you how to be twice the man or woman you
ever were before happy, well, brimming with energy, confident,
capable and free of care. You are required to follow no laborious
mental or physical program; it is much simpler than that. . . .

As laid down here the route to that promised profit may appear
strange, for few of us can imagine getting without striving. . . .

'Yet that is so, as you will see." 8

The exploitative character, with its motto "I take what I need,"

goes back to piratical and feudal ancestors and goes forward

8
Hal Falvey, Ten Seconds That Will Change Your Life (Chicago: Wilcox
& Follett, 1946).
Character 359

from there to the robber barons of the nineteenth century who

exploited the natural resources of the continent. The "pariah"
and "adventure" capitalists, to use Max Weber's terms, roaming
the earth for profit, aremen of this stamp, men whose aim was
to buy cheap and sell dear and who ruthlessly pursued power and
wealth. The free market as it operated in the eighteenth and nine-
teenth centuries under competitive conditions nurtured this type.
Our own age has seen a revival of naked exploitativeness in the
authoritarian systems which attempted to exploit the natural and
human resources, not so much of their own country but of any
other country they were powerful enough to invade. They pro-
claimed the right of might and rationalized it by pointing to the
law of nature which makes the stronger survive; love and decency
were signs of weakness; thinking was the occupation of cowards
and degenerates.
The hoarding orientation existed side by side with the exploita-
tive orientation in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The
hoarding type was conservative, less interested in ruthless acqui-
sition than in methodical economic pursuits, based on sound

principles and on the preservation of what had been acquired.

To him property was a symbol of his self and its protection a
supreme value. This orientation gave him a great deal of security;
his possession of property and family, protected as they were by
the relatively stable conditions of the nineteenth century, con-
stituted a safe and manageable world. Puritan ethics, with the

emphasis on work and success as evidence of goodness, sup-

ported the feeling of security and tended to give life meaning
and a religious sense of fulfillment. This combination of a stable
world, stable possessions, and a stable ethic gave the members of
the middle class a feeling of belonging, self-confidence, and
pride.
The marketing orientation does not come out of the eighteenth
or nineteenth centuries; it is definitely a modern product. It is
only recently that the package, the label, the brand name have
become important, in people as well as in commodities. The
gospel of working loses weight and the gospel of selling becomes
paramount. In feudal times, social mobility was exceedingly
limited and one could not use one's personality to get ahead. In
360 Erich Fromm
the days of the competitive market, social mobility was relatively
great, especially in the United States; if one "delivered the goods"
one could get ahead. Today, the opportunities for the lone indi-
vidual who can make a fortune all by himself are, in comparison
with the previous period, greatly diminished. He who wants to
get ahead has to fit into large organizations, and his ability to
play the expected role is one of his main assets.
The depersonalization, the emptiness, the meaninglessness of
life, the automatization of the individual result in a growing dis-
satisfaction and in a need to search for a more adequate way of
living and for norms which could guide man to this end. The
productive orientation which I am going to discuss now points
to the type of character in whom growth and the development of
all his potentialities is the aim to which all other activities are

subordinated.

3. The Productive Orientation

a) General characteristics

From the time of classic and medieval literature up to the end

of the nineteenth century a great deal of effort was expended in
describing the vision of what the good man and the good society
ought Such ideas were expressed partly in the form of
to be.

philosophical or theological treatises, partly in the form of Utopias.

The twentieth century is conspicuous for the absence of such
visions. The emphasis is on critical analysis of man and society,
in which positive visions of what man ought to be are only im-
plied. While there is no doubt that this criticism is of utmost
significance and a condition for any improvement of society, the
absence of visions projecting a "better" man and a "better" so-
ciety has had the effect of paralyzing man's faith in himself and
his future (and is at the same time the result of such a paralysis) .

Contemporary psychology and particularly psychoanalysis are

no exception in this respect. Freud and his followers have given
a splended analysis of the neurotic character. Their clinical de-
scription of the nonproductive character (in Freud's terms, the
Character 561

pregenital character) is exhaustive and accurate quite regard-

less of the fact that the theoretical concepts they used are in
need of But the character of the normal, mature, healthy
revision.

personality has found scarcely any consideration. This character,

called the genital character by Freud, has remained a rather
vague and abstract concept. It is defined by him as the character
structure of a person in whom the oral and anal libido has lost
its dominant position and functions under the supremacy of geni-
tal sexuality, the aim of which is sexual union with a member of
the opposite sex. The description of the genital character does not
go far beyond the statement that it is the character structure of
an individual who is capable of functioning well sexually and so-
cially.
In discussing the productive character I venture beyond critical
analysis and inquire into the nature of the fully developed charac-
ter that is the aim of human development and simultaneously the
ideal of humanistic ethics. It may serve as a preliminary ap-
proach to the concept of productive orientation to state its con-
nection with Freud's genital character. Indeed, if we do not use
Freud's term literally in the context of his libido theory but
symbolically, it denotes quite accurately the meaning of pro-
ductiveness. For the stage of sexual maturity is that in which man
has the capacity of natural production; by the union of the sperm
and the egg new life is produced. While
this type of production
is common to man andanimals, the capacity for material pro-
duction is specific for man. Man is not only a rational and social
animal. He can also be defined as a producing animal, capable
of transforming the materials which he finds at hand, using his
reason and imagination. Not only can he produce, he must pro-
duce in order to live. Material production, however, is but the
most frequent symbol for productiveness as an aspect of charac-
9
ter. The "productive orientation" of personality refers to a
fundamental attitude, a mode
of relatedness in all realms of
human experience. It covers mental, emotional, and sensory re-
sponses to others, to oneself, and to things. Productiveness is-
man's ability to use his powers and to realize the potentialities
9
Productiveness as used in this book is meant as an expansion of the con-
cept of spontaneity described in Escape from Freedom.
352 Erich Fromm
inherent in him. If we say he must use his powers we imply
that he must be free and not dependent on someone who controls
his powers. We imply, furthermore, that he is guided by reason,
since he can make use of his powers only if he knows what they
are, how to use them, and what to use them for.
Productiveness
means that he experiences himself as the embodiment of his
powers and as the "actor"; that he feels himself one
with his
are not masked and
powers and at the same time that they
alienated from him.
In order to avoid the misunderstandings to which the term
to discuss
"productiveness" lends itself, it seems appropriate
briefly what is not meant by productiveness.
with crea-
Generally the word "productiveness" is associated
tiveness, particularly artistic creativeness.
The real artist, indeed,
is the most convincing representative of productiveness.
But not
all artists are productive; a conventional painting, e.g., may
exhibit nothing more than the technical skill to reproduce the
likeness of a person in photographic fashion on a canvas. But
a person can experience, see, feel, and think productively without
having the gift to create something visible or communicable.
Productiveness is an attitude which every human being is capable
of, unless he is mentally and emotionally crippled.
The term "productive" is also apt to be confused with "active,"
and "productiveness" with "activity." While the two terms can
be synonymous (for instance, in Aristotle's concept of activity) ,

activity in modern usage frequently indicates the very opposite

of productiveness. Activity is usually defined as behavior which
brings about a change in an existing situation by an expenditure
of energy. In contrast, a person is described as passive if he is
unable to change or overtly influence an existing situation and is
influenced or moved by forces outside himself. This current con-
cept of activity takes into account only the actual expenditure of
energy and the change brought about by it. It does not distinguish
between the underlying psychic conditions governing the activi-
ties.

An example, though an extreme one, of nonproductive activity

isthe activity of a person under hypnosis. The person in a deep
hypnotic trance may have his eyes open, may walk, talk, and do
Character 36;

things; he "acts." The general definition of activity would apply

to him, since energy is spent and some change brought about.
But if we consider the particular character and quality of this
activity, we find that it is not really the hypnotized person who
is the actor, but the hypnotist who, by means of his suggestions,
acts through him. While the hypnotic trance is an artificial state, it
is an extreme but characteristic example of a situation in which
a person can be active and yet not be the true actor, his activity
resulting from compelling forces over which he has no control.
A commontype of nonproductive activity is the reaction to
anxiety, whether acute or chronic, conscious or unconscious,
which is frequently at the root of the frantic preoccupations of
men today. Different from anxiety-motivated activity, though
often blended with it, is the type of activity based on submission
to or dependence on an authority. The authority may be feared,
admired, or "loved" usually all three are mixed but the cause
command of the authority, both in a formal
of the activity is the
way and with regard to its contents. The person is active because
the authority wants him to be, and he does what the authority
wants him to do. This kind of activity is found in the authori-
tarian character. To him activity means to act in the name of
something higher than his own self. He can act in the name of
God, the past, or duty, but not in the name of himself. The
authoritarian character receives the impulse to act from a su-
perior power which is neither assailable nor changeable, and is
consequently unable to heed spontaneous impulses from within
himself. 10
Resembling submissive activity is automaton activity. Here we
do not find dependence on overt authority, but rather on anony-
mous authority as it is represented by public opinion, culture
patterns, common sense, or "science." The person feels or does
what he supposed to feel or do; his activity lacks spontaneity
is

in the sense thatit does not originate from his own mental or

emotional experience but from an outside source.

10
But the authoritarian character does not only tend to submit but also
wishes to dominate others. In fact, both the sadistic and the masochistic sides
are always present, and they
differ only in degree of their strength and their

(See the discussion of the authoritarian character in

repression respectively.
Escape from Freedom, pp. 141 ff.)
364 Erich Fromm

Among the most powerful sources of activity are irrational

passions. The person who is driven by stinginess, masochism,
envy, jealousy, and all other forms of greed is compelled to act;

yet his actions are neither free nor rational but in opposition to
reason and to his interests as a human being. person so ob- A
sessed repeats himself, becoming more and more inflexible, and
more stereotyped. He is active, but he is not productive.
Although the source of these activities is irrational and the
acting persons are neither free nor rational, there can be im-
portant results, often leading to material success. In the concept
of productiveness we are not concerned with activity necessarily
leading to practical results but with an attitude, with a mode of
reaction and orientation toward the world and oneself in the
process of living. We are concerned with man's character, not
with his success. 11
Productiveness is man's realization of the potentialities charac-
teristicof him, the use of his powers. But what is "power"? It is
rather ironical that this word denotes two contradictory concepts :

Power of = capacity and power over = domination. This contra-

diction, however, of a particular kind. Power = domination
is

results from the paralysis of

power =
capacity. "Power over" is
the perversion of "power to." The ability of man to make pro-
ductive use of his powers is his potency; the inability is his
impotence. With his power of reason he can penetrate the sur-
face of phenomena and understand their essence. With his power
of love he can break through the wall which separates one person
from another. With his power of imagination he can visualize
things not yet existing; he can plan and thus begin to create.
Where potency is lacking, man's relatedness to the world is

perverted into a desire to dominate, to exert power over others

as though they were things. Domination is coupled with death,
u An although to
interesting incomplete attempt analyze productive thinking
is Max Wertheimer's posthumously published work, Productive Thinking
(New York: Harper & Brothers, 1945). Some of the aspects of productiveness
are dealt with by Munsterberg, Natorp, Bergson, and James; in Brentano's and
Husserl's analysis of the psychic "act"; in Dilthey's analysis of artistic produc-
tion and in O. Schwarz, Mediziniselie Anrhropologie (Leipzig: Hirzel,
1929),
pp. iii ff. In all these works, however, the problem is not treated in relation to
character.
Character 365

potency with life. Domination springs from impotence and in

turn reinforces it, forif an individual can force somebody else

to serve him, his own need to be productive is increasingly

paralyzed.
How is man related to the world when he uses his powers
productively?
The world outside oneself can be experienced in two ways:
reproductively by perceiving actuality in the same fashion as a
film makes a literal record of things photographed (although
even mere reproductive perception requires the active participa-
tion of the mind) ; and generatively by conceiving it, by enliven-

ing and re-creating this new material through the spontaneous

activity of one's own mental and emotional powers. While to a

certain extent everyone does react in both ways, the respective
weight of each kind of experience differs widely. Sometimes either
one of the two is atrophied, and the study of these extreme cases
in which the reproductive or the generative mode is almost absent
offers the best approach to the understanding of each of these

phenomena.
The atrophy of the generative capacity is very fre-
relative

quent our
in culture. A
person may be able to recognize things
as they are (or as his culture maintains them to be), but he is
unable to enliven his perception from within. Such a person is
the perfect "realist," who sees all there is to be seen of the sur-
face features of phenomena but who is quite incapable of pene-
trating below the surface to the essential, and of visualizing what
is not yet apparent. He sees the details but not the whole, the

trees but not the forest. Reality to him is only the sum total of
what has already materialized. This person is not lacking in
imagination, but his is a calculating imagination, combining
factors all of which are known and in existence, and inferring
their future operation.
Onthe other hand, the person who has lost the capacity to
perceive actuality is insane. The psychotic person builds up an
inner world of reality in which he seems to have full confidence;
he lives in his own world, and the common factors of reality as
perceived by all men are unreal to him. When a person sees ob-
366 Erich Fromm
jects which do not exist in reality but are entirely the product
of his imagination, he has hallucinations; he interprets events in
terms of his own feelings, without reference to, or at least without
proper acknowledgment of, what goes on in reality. A
paranoid
person may believe that he is being persecuted, and a chance
remark may indicate a plan to humiliate and ruin him. He is
convinced that the lack of any more obvious and explicit mani-
festation of such intention does not prove anything; that, al-
though the remark may appear harmless on the surface, its real
if one looks "deeper." For the psychotic
meaning becomes clear

person actual reality is wiped out and an inner reality has taken
its place.
"realist" sees only the surface features of things; he sees
The
the manifest world, he can reproduce it photographically in his
mind, and he can act by manipulating things and people as
they appear in this picture. The insane person is incapable of
as a symbol and a
seeing reality as it is; he perceives reality only
reflection of his inner world. Both are sick. The sickness of the

psychotic who has lost contact with reality is such that he cannot
function socially. The sickness of the "realist" impoverishes him
as a human being. While he is not incapacitated in his social
functioning, his view of reality is so distorted because of its lack
of depth and perspective that he is apt to err when more than
manipulation of immediately given data and short-range aims
are involved. "Realism" seems to be the very opposite of insanity
and yet it is only its complement.
The true opposite of both "realism" and insanity is productive-
ness. The normal human being is capable of relating himself to
the world simultaneously by perceiving it as it is and by con-
ceiving it enlivened and enriched by his own powers. If one of
the two capacities is atrophied, man is sick; but the normal per-
son has both capacities even though their respective weights
differ. The presence of both reproductive and generative ca-

pacities isa precondition for productiveness; they are opposite

poles whose interaction is the dynamic source of productiveness.
With the last statement I want to emphasize that productiveness
isnot the sum or combination of both capacities but that it is

something new which springs from this interaction. . . .

Character 367

b) Productive love and thinking

Human existence is characterized by the fact that man is

alone and separated from the world; not being able to stand the
separation, he is impelled to seek for relatedness and oneness.
There are many ways in which he can realize this need, but only
one in which he, as a unique entity, remains intact; only one in
which his own powers unfold in the very process of being related.
It is the paradox of human existence that man must simul-

taneously seek for closeness and for independence; for oneness

with others and at the same time for the preservation of his
12 As we have
uniqueness and particularity. shown, the answer to
this paradox and to the moral problem of man is productive-
ness.
One can be productively related to the world by acting and
by comprehending. Man produces things, and in the process of
creation he exercises his powers over matter. Man comprehends
the world, mentally and emotionally, through love and through
reason. His power of reason enables him to penetrate through
the surface and to grasp the essence of his object by getting into
active relation with it. His power of love enables him to break

through the wall which separates him from another person and
to comprehend him. Although love and reason are only two
different forms of comprehending the world and although neither
is possible without the other, they are expressions of different
powers, that of emotion and that of thinking, and hence must
be discussed separately.
The concept of productive love is very different indeed from
what is hardly any word which
frequently called love. There is

is more ambiguous and confusing than the word "love." It is

used to denote almost every feeling short of hate and disgust.
It comprises everything from the love for ice cream to the love

for a symphony, from mild sympathy to the most intense feeling

12
This concept of relatedness as the synthesis of closeness and uniqueness
is inmany ways similar to the concept of "detached attachment" in
Charles Morris' Paths of Life (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1942), one
difference being that Morris* frame of reference is that of temperament while
mine is that of character.
368 Erich Fromm
of closeness. People feel they love if they have "fallen for" some-
body. They call their dependence love, and their possessiveness
too. They believe, in fact, that nothing is easier than to love, that
the difficulty lies only in finding the right object, and that their

failure to find happiness in love is due to their bad luck in not

finding the right partner. But contrary to all this confused and
wishful thinking, love is a very specific feeling; and while every
human being has a capacity for love, its realization is one of the
most difficult achievements. Genuine love is rooted in produc-
tiveness and may properly be called, therefore, "productive love.**
Its essenceis the same whether it is the mother's love for the

child, our love for man, or the erotic love between two indi-
viduals. (That it is also the same with regard to love for others
and love for ourselves we shall discuss later.) 13 Although the
objects of love differ and consequently the intensity and quality
of love itself differ, certain basic elements may be said to be
characteristic of all forms of productive love. These are care,
responsibility, respect, and knowledge.

""Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-interest/' pp. 320-337.

 22

KAREN HORNBY
1

The Search for Glory'

Whatever the conditions under which a child grows up, he will,

if not mentally defective, learn to cope with others in one way
or another and he will probably acquire some skills. But there are
also forces in him which he cannot acquire or even develop by

learning. You need not, and in fact cannot, teach an acorn to

grow into an oak tree, but when given a chance, its intrinsic po-
develop. Similarly, the human individual, given a
tentialities will

chance, tends to develop his particular human potentialities. He

will develop then the unique alive forces of his real self: the

clarity and depth of his own feelings, thoughts, wishes, interests;

the ability to tap his own resources, the strength of his will power;
the special capacities or gifts he may have; the faculty to express
himself, and to relate himself to others with his spontaneous
time enable him to find his set of values
feelings. All this will in
and aims in life. In short, he will grow, substantially undi-
his

verted, toward self-realization. And that is why I speak of tne

real self as that central inner force, common to all human
beings and yet unique in each, which is the deep source of
1
growth.
Only the individual himself can develop his given potentialities.

But, like any other living organism, the human individuum needs
* Human Growth by Karen Homey, by per-
Reprinted from Neurosis and
mission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Copyright 1950 by W. W.
Norton & Company, Inc.
When in the future a reference is made to growth, it is always meant in
1

the sense presented here that of free, healthy development in accordance with
the potentials of one's generic and individual nature.
369
 370 Karen Homey
favorable conditions for his growth "from acorn into oak tree";
he needs an atmosphere of warmth to give him both a feeling of
inner security and the inner freedom enabling him to have his
own feelings and thoughts and to express himself. He
needs the
good will of others, not only to help him hi his many needs but
to guide and encourage him to become a mature and fulfilled

individual. Healso needs healthy friction with the wishes and

wills of others. If he can thus grow with others, in love and in

friction, he will also grow in accordance with his real self.

But through a variety of adverse influences, a child may not be
permitted to grow according to his individual needs and possi-
bilities. Such unfavorable conditions are too manifold to list here.

But, when summarized, they all boil down to the fact that the

people in the environment are too wrapped up in their own

neuroses to be able to love the child, or even to conceive of him
as the particular individual he is; their attitudes toward him are
determined by their own neurotic needs and responses. 2 In simple
words, they may be
dominating, overprotective, intimidating, ir-
ritable, overexacting, overindulgent, erratic, partial toother sib-
lings, hypocritical, indifferent, etc. It is never a matter of just
a single factor, but always the whole constellation that exerts
the untoward influence on a child's growth.
As a result, the child does not develop a feeling of belonging,
of "we," but instead a profound insecurity and vague apprehen-
siveness, for which I use the term basic anxiety. It is his feeling
of being isolated and helpless in a world conceived as potentially
hostile. The cramping pressure of his basic anxiety prevents the
child from relating himself to others with the spontaneity of his
real feelings, and forces him to find ways to cope with them.
He must (unconsciously) deal with them in ways which do not
arouse, or increase, but rather allay his basic anxiety. The par-
ticular attitudes from such unconscious strategical
resulting
necessities are determined both by the child's given temperament
and by the contingencies of the environment. Briefly, he may
try to cling to the most powerful person around him; he may try
2
All the neurotic disturbances in human relations which are summarized in
Chapter 12 [Neurosis and Human Growth] of this book may operate.
Cf. also Karen Homey, Our Inner Conflicts, Chapter 2, The Basic Conflict,
and Chapter 6, The Idealized Image.
The Search for Glory 371

to rebel and fight; he may try to shut others out of his inner life
and withdraw emotionally from them. In principle, this means
that he can move toward, against, or away from others. . . .

This first attempt at solving neurotic conflicts is by no means

superficial. On the contrary, it has a determining influence upon
the further course his neurotic development takes. Nor does it
exclusively concern attitudes toward others; inevitably, it entails
certain changes in the whole personality. According to his main
direction the child also develops certain appropriate needs, sen-
sitivities, inhibitions, and the beginnings of moral values. The

predominantly complying child, for instance, tends not only to

subordinate himself to others and to lean on them, but also tries
to be unselfish and good. Similarly, the aggressive child starts
to place value on strength and on the capacity to endure and to
.
fight. . .

Despite his early attempts at solving his conflicts with others,

the individual is still divided and needs a firmer and more com-
prehensive integration.
For many reasons, he has not had the chance to develop real
self-confidence: his inner strength has been sapped by his having
to be on the defensive, by his being divided, by the way in which
his early "solution" initiated a one-sided development, thereby
making large areas of his personality unavailable for constructive
uses. Hence, he desperately needs self-confidence, or a substitute
for it.

He does not feel weakened in a vacuum, but feels specifically

less substantial, less well equipped for life than others. If he had
a sense of belonging, his feeling inferior to others would not be
so serious a handicap. But living in a competitive society, and
feeling atbottom as he does isolated and hostile, he can only
develop an urgent need to lift himself above others.
Even more basic than these factors is his beginning alienation
from self. Not only is his real self prevented from a straight
growth, but in addition his need to evolve artificial, strategic
ways to cope with others has forced him to override his genuine
feelings, wishes, and thoughts. To the extent that safety has
become paramount, his innermost feelings and thoughts have
receded in importance in fact, have had to be silenced and
 372 Karen Homey
have become indistinct. (It does not matter what he feels, if
only he is safe.) His feelings and wishes thus cease to be de-
termining factors; he is no longer, so to speak, the driver, but
is driven. Also the division in himself not
only weakens him in
general, but reinforces the alienation by adding an element of
confusion; he no longer knows where he stands, or "who" he
is. ... Hence, most of all, the individual alienated from him-

self needs it would be absurd to say a "substitute" for his real

self, because there is no such thing something that will give

him a hold, a feeling of identity. This could make him meaning-
ful to himself and, despite all the weakness in his structure, give
him a feeling of power and significance.
Provided his inner conditions do not change (through for-
tunatelife circumstances) so that he can dispense with the needs
,

I have listed, there is only one way in which he can seem to

fulfill them, and seem to fulfill all of them at one stroke: through
imagination. Gradually and unconsciously, the imagination sets
to work and creates in his mind an idealized image of himself.
In this process he endows himself with unlimited powers and
with exalted faculties; he becomes a hero, a genius, a supreme
lover, a saint, a god.

Self-idealization always entails a general self-glorification, and

thereby gives the individual the much-needed feeling of signifi-
cance and of superiority over others. But it is by no means a blind
self-aggrandizement. Each person builds up his personal idealized

image from the materials of his own

special experiences, his
earlier fantasies, his particular needs, and also his given faculties.
If it were not for the personal character of the image, he would
not attain a feeling of identity and unity. He idealizes, to begin
with, his particular "solution" of his basic conflict: compliance
becomes goodness; love, saintliness; aggressiveness becomes
strength, leadership, heroism, omnipotence; aloofness becomes
wisdom, self-sufficiency,independence. What according to his
particular solution appear as shortcomings or flaws are always
dimmed out or retouched. , . -

Eventually the individual may come to identify himself with his

Idealized, integrated image. Then it does not remain a visionary
The Search for Glory 373

image which he secretly cherishes; imperceptibly he becomes this

image: the idealized image becomes an idealized self. And this
idealized self becomes more real to him than his real self, not
primarily because it is more appealing but because it answers all
his stringent needs. This transfer of his center of gravity is an
entirely inward process; there is no observable or conspicuous
outward change in him. The change is in the core of his being,
IP his feeling about himself. It is a curious and exclusively human

process. It would hardly occur to a cocker spaniel that he

"really" is an Irish setter. And the transition can occur in a
person only because his real self has previously become indistinct.
While the healthy course at this phase of development and at
any phase would be a move toward his real self, he now starts
to abandon it definitely for the idealized self. The latter begins
to represent to him what he is
"really" what he
is, or potentially
could be, and should be. It becomes the perspective from which
he looks at himself, the measuring rod with which he measures
himself.

Self-idealization, in its various aspects, is what I suggest calling

a comprehensive neurotic solution i.e., a solution not only for
a particular conflict but one that implicitly promises to satisfy
all the inner needs that have arisen in an individual at a given

time. Moreover, it promises not only a riddance from his painful

and unbearable feelings (feeling lost, anxious, inferior, and di-
vided), but in addition an ultimately mysterious fulfillment of
himself and his life. No wonder, then, that when he believes he
has found such a solution he clings to it for dear life. No wonder
that, to use a good psychiatric term, it becomes compulsive?
The regular occurrence of self-idealization in neurosis is the
result of the regular occurrence of the compulsive needs bred
in a neurosis-prone environment.
We can look at self-idealization from two major vantage
points: the logical outcome of an early development and it
it is

is also the beginning of a new one. It is bound to have far-reach-

ing influence upon the further development because there simply

8
We shall discuss the exact meaning of compulsiveness when we have a
ipnre complete view of some further steps involved in this solution.
374 Karen Homey
is no more consequential step to be taken than the abandoning
of the real self. But the main reason for its revolutionary effect

lies another implication of this step. The energies driving

in
the
toward self-realization are shifted to the aim of actualizing
idealized self. This shift means no more and no less than a change
in the course of the individual's whole life and development.
We shall see throughout thisbook the manifold ways in which
this shift in direction exerts a molding influence upon the whole

personality. Its more immediate effect is to prevent self-idealiza-

tion from remaining a purely inward process, and to force it
into the total circuit of the individual's life. The individual wants
to or,rather, is driven to express himself. And this now
means that he wants to express his idealized self, to prove it in
action. It infiltrates his aspirations, his goals, his conduct of life,
and his relations to others. For this reason, self-idealization in-
evitably grows into a more comprehensive drive which I suggest
calling by a appropriate to its nature and its dimensions:
name
the search for gtojy. Self-idealization remains its nuclear part.
The other elements in it, all of them always present, though in
varying degrees of strength and awareness in each individual
case, are the need for perfection, neurotic ambition, and the need
for a vindictive triumph.

Among the drives toward actualizing the idealized self the

need for perfection is the most radical one. It aims at nothing less
than molding the whole personality into the idealized self. Like
Pygmalion in Bernard Shaw's version, the neurotic aims not only
at retouching but at remodeling himself in his special kind of
perfection prescribed by the specific features of his idealized
image. He tries to achieve this goal by a complicated system of
shoulds and taboos.
The most obvious and the most extrovert among the elements
of the search for glory is neurotic ambition, the drive toward,
external success. While this drive toward excelling in actuality is
pervasive and tends toward excelling in everything, it is usually
most strongly applied to those matters in which excelling is most
feasible for the given individual at a given time. Hence the con-
The Search for Glory 375

tent of ambition may well change several times during a lifetime.

At school a person may feel it an intolerable disgrace not to have
the very best marks in class. Later on, he may be just as com-
pulsively driven to have the most dates with the most desirable
girls. And again, still later, he may be obsessed with making the
most money, or being the most prominent in politics. Such
changes easily give rise to certain self-deceptions. person who A
has at one period been fanatically determined to be the greatest
athletic hero, or war hero, may at another period become equally
bent on being the greatest saint. He may believe, then, that he
has "lost" his ambition. Or he may decide that excelling in ath-
or in war was not what he "really" wanted. Thus he may
letics
that he still sails on the boat of ambition but has
fail to realize

merely changed the course. Of course, one must also analyze in

detail what made him changehis course at that particular time.
I emphasize these changes because they point to the fact that
people in the clutches of ambition are but little related to the
content of what they are doing. What counts is the excelling
itself. If one did not recognize this unrelatedness, many changes

would be incomprehensible. . . .

Thepicture varies, however, in many ways, according to the

nature of the desired success. Roughly, it may belong more in the
category of power (direct power, power behind the throne, in-
fluence, manipulating), or more in the category of prestige (repu-
tation, acclaim, popularity, admiration, special attention).

These ambitious drives are, comparatively speaking, the most

realisticof the expansive drives. At least, this is true in the sense
that the people involved put in actual efforts to the end of excell-

ing. These drives also seem more realistic because, with sufficient
luck, their possessors may actually acquire the coveted glamor,
honors, influence. But, on the other hand, when they do attain
more money, more distinction, more power, they also come to
feel thewhole impact of the futility of their chase. They do not
secure any more peace of mind, inner security, or joy of living.
The inner distress, to remedy which they started out on the chase
for the phantom of glory, is still as great as ever. Since these are
376 Karen Homey
not accidental results, happening to this or that individual, but
are inexorably bound to occur, one may rightly say that the
whole pursuit of success is intrinsically unrealistic. . . *

The last element in the search for glory, more destructive than
the others, is the drive toward a vindictive triumph. It may be
closely linked up with the drive for actual achievement
and
success but, if so, its chief aim is to put others to shame or defeat
them through one's very success; or to attain the power, by rising
.to prominence, to inflict suffering upon them mostly of a hu-
miliating kind. On the other hand, the
drive for excelling may
be relegated to fantasy, and the need for a vindictive triumph
then manifests itself mainly In often irresistible, mostly uncon-
scious impulses to frustrate, outwit, or defeat others in personal
because the motivating
relations. I call this drive "vindictive"
force stems take revenge for humiliations
from impulses to
suffered in childhood impulses which are reinforced during the
later neurotic development. These later accretions probably are

responsible for the way in which the need for a vindictive tri-

umph eventually becomes a regular ingredient in the search for

glory. Both the degree of its strength and the person's awareness
of it vary to a remarkable extent. Most people are either entirely
unaware of such a need or cognizant of it only in fleeting mo-
ments. Yet it is sometimes out in the open, and then it becomes

the barely disguised mainspring of life. Among recent historical

figures Hitler is a good illustration of a person who went through
humiliating experiences and gave his whole life to a fanatic
desire to triumph over an ever-increasing mass of people. In his
case vicious circles, constantly increasing the need, are clearly
discernible. One of these develops from the fact that he could
think only in categories of triumph and defeat. Hence the fear
of defeat made further triumphs always necessary. Moreover, the
feeling of grandeur, increasing with every triumph, rendered it
increasingly intolerable that anybody, or even any nation, should
aot recognize his grandeur. . . .

Much more frequently the drive toward a vindictive triumph is

hidden. Indeed, because of its destructive nature, it is the most
hidden element in the search for glory. It may be that only a
The Search for Glory 377

rather frantic ambition will be apparent. In analysis alone are

we able to see that the driving power behind it is the need to
defeat and humiliate others by rising above them. The less harm-
ful were, absorb the more destruc-
need for superiority can, as it

tive compulsion. This allows a person to act out his need, and

yet feel righteous about it. ...

There are various solid proofs that the search for glory is a
comprehensive and coherent entity. In the first place, all the in-
dividual trends described above regularly occur together in one
person. Of course one or another element may so predominate as
to make us speak loosely of, say, an ambitious person, or of a
dreamer. But that does not mean that the dominance of one ele-
ment indicates the absence of the others. The ambitious person
will have his grandiose image of himself too; the dreamer will
want realistic supremacy, even though the latter factor may be
apparent only in the way in which his pride is offended by the
success of others. 4
Furthermore, all the individual trends involved are so closely
related that the prevailing trend may change during the lifetime
of a given person. He may turn from glamorous daydreams to
being the perfect father and employer, and again to being the
greatest lover of all time.
Lastly, they all common two general characteristics,
have in
both understandable from the genesis and the functions of the
whole phenomenon: their compulsive nature and their imagi-
native character. Both have been mentioned, but it is desirable
to have a more complete and succinct picture of their meaning.
The compulsive nature stems from the fact that the self-ideali-
zation (and the whole search for glory developing as its sequel)
isa neurotic solution. When we call a drive compulsive we mean
the opposite of spontaneous wishes or strivings. The latter are
an expression of the real self; the former are determined by the
4
Because personalities often look different in accordance with the trend
which is prevailing, the temptation to regard these trends as separate entities
is great. Freud regarded phenomena which are roughly similar to these as

separate instinctual drives with separate origins and properties. When I made
a first attempt to enumerate compulsive drives in neurosis they appeared to
me too as separate "neurotic trends."
578 Karen Homey
inner necessities of the neurotic structure. The individual must
abide by them regardless of his real wishes, feelings, or interest*
lest he incur anxiety, feel torn by conflicts, be overwhelmed by
by others, etc. In other words, the
guilt feelings, feel rejected
difference between spontaneous and compulsive is one between
"I want" and "I must in order to avoid some danger.'* Although
the individual may consciouslyfeel his ambition or his standards

of perfection to be what he wants to attain, he is actually driven

to attain it The need for glory has him in its clutches. Since he
himself is unaware of the difference between wanting and being
driven, we must establish criteria for a distinction
between the
two. The most decisive one is the fact that he is driven on the
road to glory with an utter disregard for himself, for his best
interests. . . .

Another criterion of the compulsive nature of the drive for

gj ory O f a ny other compulsive drive is its indiscriminate-

as
ness. Since the person's real interest in a pursuit does
not matter,
he must be the center of attention, must be the most attractive,
the most intelligent, the most original whether or not the situ-
ation calls for it; whether or not, with his given attributes, he
can be the first. He must come out victorious in any argument,
regardless of where the truth lies.
His thoughts in this matter
are the exact opposite of those of Socrates: ". . . for surely we
are not now simply contending in order that my view or that of
yours prevail, but I presume that
may we ought both of us to be
5 The
fighting for the truth." compulsiveness of the neurotic per-
son's need for indiscriminate supremacy makes him indifferent to
truth, whether concerning himself, others, or facts.
Furthermore, like any other compulsive drive, the search for
It must operate as long as
glory has the quality of insatiability.
the unknown (to himself) forces are driving him. There may be
a glow of elation over the favorable reception of some work
done, over a victory won, over any sign of recognition or ad-
miration but it does not last. A
success may hardly be experi-
enced as such in the first place, or, at the least, must make room
for despondency or fear soon after. In any case, the relentless

5
From Phflebus, The Dialogues of Plato, translated into English by B.
Jbwett, MA, Random House, New York.
The Search for Glory 379

chase after more prestige, more money, more women, more vic-
tories and conquests keeps going, with hardly any satisfaction
or respite.
Finally, the compulsive nature of a drive shows in the reac-
tions to its frustration. The greater its subjective importance, the
more impelling is the need to attain its goal, and hence the more
intense the reactions to frustration. These constitute one of the
ways which we can measure the intensity of a drive. Although
in
not always plainly visible, the search for glory is a most
this is

powerful drive. It can be like a demoniacal obsession, almost like

a monster swallowing up the individual who has created it. And
so the reactions to frustration must be severe. They are indicated
by the terror of doom and disgrace that for many people is
spelled in the idea of failure. Reactions of panic, depression, de-
spair, rage at self and others to what is conceived as "failure"
are frequent, and entirely out of proportion to the actual impor-
tance of the occasion. The phobia of falling from heights is a
frequent expression of the dread of falling from the heights of
illusory grandeur. Consider the dream of a patient who had a
phobia about heights. It occurred at a time when he had begun
to doubt his established belief of unquestioned superiority. In
the dream he was at the top of a mountain, but in danger of
falling,and was clinging desperately to the ridge of the peak.
"I cannot get any higher than I am," he said, "so all I have to
do in life is to hold on to it." Consciously, he referred to his
social status, but in a deeper sense this "I cannot get any higher"
also held true for his illusions about himself. He could not get

higher than having (in his mind) a godlike omnipotence and

cosmic significance!

The second characteristic inherent in all the elements of the

search for glory is the great and peculiar role imagination plays
in them. It is instrumental in the process of self-idealization. But
this is so crucial a factor that the whole search for glory is bound
to be pervaded by fantastic elements. No matter how much a
person prides himself on being realistic, no matter how realistic
indeed his march toward success, triumph, perfection, his imagi-
nation accompanies him and makes him mistake a mirage for
380 Karen Homey
the real thing. One simply cannot be unrealistic about oneself
and remain entirely realistic in other respects. When the wanderer
in the desert, under the duress of fatigue and thirst, sees a mirage,

he may make actual efforts to but

reach
it, the mirage the glory
which should end his distress is itself a product of imagination.
and mental
Actually imagination also permeates all psychic
functions in the healthy person. When we feel the sorrow or the
our that enables us to do so.
joy of a friend, it is imagination
When we wish, hope, fear, believe, plan, it is our imagination
showing us But imagination may be productive or
possibilities.
to the truth of ourselves
unproductive: it can bring us closer
as it often does in dreams or carry us far away from it. It can
make our actual experience richer or poorer. And these differ-
ences roughly distinguish neurotic and healthy imagination.
When thinkingof the plans so many neurotics
grandiose
evolve, or the fantastic nature of their self-glorification
and their
are more richly
claims, we may be tempted to believe that they
endowed than others with the royal gift of imagination and
it can more easily go astray in them.
that, for that very reason,
This notion is not borne out by my experience. The endow-
ment varies among neurotic people, as it does among more
se is
healthy ones. But I find no evidence that the neurotic per
by nature more imaginative than others.
Nevertheless the notion is a false conclusion based upon ac-
curate observations. Imagination does in fact play a greater role
in neurosis. However, what accounts for this are not constitu-
tional but functional factors. Imagination operates as it does in
the healthy person, but in addition it takes over functions which
it does not normally have. It is put in the service of neurotic
needs. This particularly clear in the case of the
is search for

glory, which, as we know, is prompted by

the impact of power
ful needs. In psychiatric literature imaginative distortions of
reality are known as "wishful thinking." It is by now a well-
established term, but it is nevertheless incorrect. It is too nar-

row: an accurate term would encompass not only thinking but

also "wishful" observing, believing, and particularly feeling
Moreover, it is a thinking or feeling that is determined not
by our wishes but by our needs. And it is the impact of these
The Search for Glory 381

needs that lends imagination the tenacity and power it has in

neurosis, that makes it prolific and unconstructive.
The
role imagination plays in the search for glory may show
unmistakably and directly in daydreams. . But daydreams,. .

while important and revealing when they occur, are not the most
injurious work of imagination. For a person is mostly aware of
the fact that he is daydreaming, i.e., imagining things which have
not occurred or are not likely to occur in the way he is experi-
encing them in fantasy. At least it is not too difficult for him to
become aware of the existence and the unrealistic character of
the daydreams. The more injurious work of imagination concerns
the subtle and comprehensive distortions of reality which he is
not aware of fabricating. The idealized self is not completed in
a single act of creation: once produced, it needs continuing at-
tention. For its actualization the person must put in an incessant
labor by way of falsifying reality. He must turn his needs into
virtues or into more than justified expectations. He must turn
his intentions to be honest or considerate into the fact of being
honest or considerate. The bright ideas he has for a paper make
him a great scholar. His potentialities turn into factual achieve-
ments. Knowing the "right" moral values makes him a virtuous
person often, indeed, a kind of moral genius. And of course his
imagination must work overtime to discard all the disturbing
evidence to the contrary. 6
Imagination also operates in changing the neurotic's beliefs.
He needs to believe that others are wonderful or vicious and
lo! there they are in a parade of benevolent or dangerous people.
It also changes his feelings. He needs to feel invulnerable and
behold! his imagination has sufficient power to brush off pain and
suffering. He needs to have deep feelings confidence, sympathy,
love, suffering: his feelings of sympathy, suffering, and the rest
are magnified.
The perception of the distortions of inner and outer reality
which imagination can bring about when put to the service of
the search for glory leaves us with an uneasy question. Where
does the flight of the neurotic's imagination end? He does not
6
Cf. the work of the Ministry of Truth in George Orwell's Nineteen
Eielirv-Four.
382 Karen Homey
afterall lose his sense of reality altogether; where then is the

border line separating him from the psychotic? If there is any

border line with respect to feats of imagination, it certainly is
hazy. We can only say that the psychotic tends to regard the
processes in his mind more exclusively as the only reality that
counts, while the neurotic for whatever reasons retains a fair
interest in the outside world and his place in it and has therefore
a fair gross orientation in it. 7 Nevertheless, while he may stay
sufficiently on the ground to function in a way not obviously
disturbed, there is no limit to the heights to which his imagina-
tion can soar. It is in fact the striking characteristic of the
most
search for glory that it goes into the fantastic, into the realm of
unlimited possibilities. . . .

This soaring into the unlimited is determined by the power

of the needs behind the drive for glory. The needs for the
absolute and the ultimate are so stringent that they override the
checks which usually prevent our imagination from detaching
from actuality. For his well-functioning, man needs both
itself

the vision of possibilities, the perspective of infinitude, and the

realization of limitations, of necessities, of the concrete. If a man's
thinking and feeling are primarily focused upon the infinite and
the vision of possibilities, he loses his sense for the concrete, for
the here and now. He loses his capacity for living in the moment.
He is no longer capable of submitting to the necessities in him-
self, "to what may be called one's limit." He loses sight of what
is actually necessary for achieving something. "Every little pos-
sibility even would require some time to become actuality." His
thinking may become too abstract. His knowledge may become
"a kind of inhuman knowing for the production of which man's
self issquandered, pretty much as men were squandered for the
building of the Pyramids." His feelings for others may evaporate
into an "abstract sentimentality for humanity." If, on the other
hand, a man does not see beyond the narrow horizon of the
concrete, the necessary, the finite, he becomes "narrow-minded
and mean-spirited." It is not, then, a question of either-or, but of

7
The reasons for this difference are complicated. It would be worth examin-
ing whether crucial among them is a more radical abandoning of the real self
(and a more radical shift to the idealized self) on the part of the psychotic.
The Search for Glory 3S3

both, if there is to be growth. The recognition of limitations,

laws, and necessities serves as a check against being carried
away into the infinite, and against the mere "floundering in pos-
sibilities." 8

The checks on imagination are malfunctioning in the search

for glory. This does not mean a general incapacity to see neces-
sities and abide by them. A
special direction in the further
neurotic development may make many people feel safer to re-
strict their lives, and they may then tend to regard the possi-

bilityof being carried away into the fantastic as a danger to be

avoided. They may close their minds to anything that to them
looks fantastic, be averse to abstract thinking, and overanxiously
cling to what is visible, tangible, concrete, or immediately use-
ful.But while the conscious attitude toward these matters varies,
every neurotic at bottom is loath to recognize limitations to what
he expects of himself and believes it possible to attain. His need
to actualize his idealized image is so imperative that he must
shove aside the checks as irrelevant or nonexistent. . . .

To be sure, the development is not always so extreme. But

every neurotic, even though he may pass superficially for healthy,
is averse to checking with evidence when it comes to his particu-

lar illusions about himself. And he must be so, because they

would collapse if he did. The attitude toward external laws and
regulations varies, but he always tends to deny laws operating
within himself, refuses to see the inevitability of cause and effect
in psychic matters, or of one factor following from the other or
reinforcing the other. ...
Itremains to bring into clearer relief the difference between
the search for glory and healthy human strivings. On the sur-
face they may look deceptively similar, so much so that differ-
ences seem to be variations in degree only. It looks as though the
neurotic were merely more ambitious, more concerned with
power, prestige, and success than the healthy person; as though
his moral standards were merely higher, or more rigid, than

ordinary ones; as though he were simply more conceited, or

8
In this philosophical discussion I roughly follow Soren Kierkegaard, Sick-
ness unto Death, Princeton University Press, 1941, written in 1844. The
quotations' in this paragraph are taken from this book.
384 Karen Homey
considered himself more important than people usually do. And,
indeed, who will venture to draw a sharp line and say:
"This is
where the healthy ends, and the neurotic begins"?
Similarities between healthy strivings and the neurotic drives
exist because they have a common root in specific human poten-

Through his mental capacities man has the faculty

tialities.
to

reach beyond himself. In contrast to other animals, he can im-

agine and plan. In many ways he
can gradually enlarge his
faculties and, as history shows, has actually done so. The same
is also true for the life of a single individual.
There are no
to what he can make out of his life, to what
rigidly fixed limits
qualities or faculties he can develop, to what he can create. Con-
that man is uncertain
sidering these facts, it seems inevitable
about his limitations and, hence, easily sets his goals either too
This uncertainty is the base without
low or too high. existing
which the search for glory could not possibly develop.
The basic difference between healthy strivings and neurotic
drives for glory lies in the forces prompting them. Healthy striv-
inherent in human beings, to de-
ings stem from a propensity,
in an inherent urge to grow
velop given potentialities. The belief
has always been the basic tenet upon which our theoretical and
9 And this belief has
therapeutic approach rests. grown ever since
with ever-new experiences. The only change is in the direction of
more precise formulation. I would say now that the live forces
of the real self urge one toward self-realization. ...
The difference, then, between healthy strivings and neurotic
drives for glory is one between spontaneity and compulsion; be-
tween recognizing and denying limitations; between a focus upon
the vision of a glorious end-product and a feeling for evolution;
between seeming and being, fantasy and truth. The difference
thus stated is not identical with that between a relatively healthy
and a neurotic individual. The former may not be wholeheartedly
9
By "our" I refer to the approach of the whole Association for the Ad-
vancement of Psychoanalysis.
In the introduction to Our Inner Conflicts I said: "My own belief is that
has the capacity as well as the desire to develop his potentialities. ."
man .
.

Cf. also Dr. Kurt Goldstein, Human Nature, Harvard University Press, 1940.
Goldstein, however, does not make the distinction which
is crucial fo*
human beings between self-realization and the actualization of the idealized
self.
The Search for Glory 385

engaged in realizing his real self nor is the latter wholly driven
to actualize his idealized self. The tendency toward self-realization
operates in the neurotic too; we could not in therapy give any
help to the patient's growth if this striving were not in him to
begin with. But, while the difference between the healthy and the
neurotic person in this respect is simply one of degree, the dif-
ference between genuine striving and compulsion drives, despite
surface similarities, one of quality and not of quantity. 10
is

The most pertinent symbol, to my mind, for the neurotic

process initiated by the search for glory is the ideational content
of the stories of the devil's pact. The devil, or some other
personification of evil, tempts a person who is perplexed by
spiritual or material trouble with the offer of unlimited powers.
But he can obtain these powers only on the condition of selling
his soul or going to hell. The temptation can come to anybody,
rich or poor in spirit, because it speaks to two powerful desires:
the longing for the infinite and the wish for an easy way out.
According to religious tradition, the greatest spiritual leaders of
mankind, Buddha and Christ, experienced such temptation. But,
because they were firmly grounded in themselves, they recognized
it as a temptation and could reject it. Moreover, the conditions

stipulated in the pact are an appropriate representation of the

price to be paid in the neurotic's development. Speaking in these
symbolic terms, the easy way to infinite glory is inevitably also
the way to an inner hell of self-contempt and self-torment. By
taking this road, the individual is in fact losing his soul his real
self.

"When I speak of "the neurotic" I mean a person in whom neurotic

drives prevail over healthy strivings.
 23

VIOLA KLEIN

The Feminine Character"

The Victorian attitude towards sex, which has loomed so large

behind Weininger's philosophy, found another expression in the
doctrine which more than any other ideological factor has
con-

tributed to dispel it. There is a peculiar irony in the fact that

the very theory which was chiefly responsible for a more enlight-
ened outlook in matters of sex and for the disappearance of
Victorian morality should have been tinged with its ideology,
with women. It is probably fair to
particularly in its dealing
that no other single scientific theory has so much affected the
say
outlook of the generation as psycho-analysis. It
has
present
created what W. H. Auden calls "a whole climate of opinion,"
it or not, the way we
and, no matter whether we are aware of
think and the way we feel is coloured by its discoveries. Its
imprint is perceptible in contemporary art, philosophy, literature,
no less than in psychology, psychiatry, anthropology, sociology
and education, and even our every-day commonsense judgments
bear the mark of its influence. If we no longer take people's
feelings and thoughts at their
face value; if we ask ourselves what
function certain attitudes fulfil in the life organization of a person;

if we attribute to unconscious drives the motivation of people's

overt behaviour; if we talk in a frank and matter-of-fact way about

sex problems; if we pay attention to early childhood experiences;

we of causation
or if generally attempt to apply a rational system

* The Feminine Character by Viola Klein by permission of

Reprinted from
International Universities Press, Inc., and Routiedge and Kegan Paul Ltd
Copyright 1948, by International Universities Press, Inc.
386
The Feminine Character 387

to irrational psychic processes,we proceed on a foundation which

Freud has His technical terms have become part of our
built.

common vocabulary, and even if we criticize him we use the tools

which he has supplied. But in doing so we shall at once come
into conflict with the orthodox school of psycho-analysts. For in
the same way as doctrinaire Marxists regard as "ideological
superstructures" all social theories except Marxism, Freudians
are inclined to take other scientific theories for "rationalizations"
of unconscious libidinal forces, but refuse to have their own sys-
tem analysed with respect to underlying emotional motives and
hidden cultural implications.
In the interest, however, not only of consistency but of scientific
advance it is necessary to apply an equal measure of scrutiny to

psycho-analysis itself and to try, as far as this is possible, to show

the extent to which it reflects existing trends of thought, prevail-
ing prejudices and unconscious personal sentiments. Freud's views
on feminine psychology (expressed in many places, but ex-
1
pounded most comprehensively in The Psychology of Women)
seem to give particular proof of these influences.
The tendency to seek in congenital, constitutional factors the
clue to what was considered the characteristically feminine per-
sonality type, was, as we have seen, common to Freud and his
contemporaries. It is mainly due to the vast progress which
biological science had made since Darwin and which gave impetus
and direction to the scientific interest of the later nineteenth cen-
tury. It has been reflected in Havelock Ellis's work, and expressed
in such books as Lombroso's La Donna Delinquente, la Prostituta
e la Donna Normale, P. J. Mobius' Ueber den physiologischen
Schwachsinn des Weibes (On the Physiological Imbecility of
Woman) or, more recently, in A. W. Nyemilov's The Biological
Tragedy of Woman and others. The underlying assumption is
summed up in the statement: "Anatomy is destiny." 2 The inter-
pretation Freud gave to the meaning of this anatomical difference
is, however, his own personal contribution to the discussion of

Chapter XXXIII, "New Introductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis"

1

(Hogarth Press, London, 1933).

2
"Some Psychological Consequences of the Anatomical Distinction between
the Sexes" (Internat. Journ. of Ps-An., 1927).
38s Viola Klein

feminine psychology, and it is in accordance with his general view

on the overruling importance of sexual factors in mental life.
In Freud's view the development of the feminine character is
shaped at the outset by one essential anatomical characteristic
(typically formulated in negative terms) the lack of a penis.
:

The difference in external genitals is conceived by psycho-analyti-

cal theory as a deficiency on the part of women. All feminine

character-traits, interests, attitudes, emotions and wishes are

reactions, in some form or other, to this basic "defect." Experi-
ence with female neurotics has taught Freud that there is among
women a widespread, in fact a general dissatisfaction with their
sexual role. It is expressed in inferiority feelings, in contempt
for their own sex, in revolt against their passive role, in envy of
man's greater freedom, in the ambition to equal man in intel-
lectual or artistic achievements, in strivings for independence,
in tendencies to domineer over other people, and in all sorts of
devices to make up for the social disadvantage of not being a
man. The root of all these grievances and compensatory mech-
anisms, the key note, so to speak, to which the entire psychol-
ogy of women is tuned, is, according to Freud, to be found in
the early discovery of the girl that she is lacking an essential
organ.

As we learn from our psycho-analytic work all women feel that

they have been injured in their infancy, and that through no fault of
their own they have been slighted and robbed of a part of their body;
and the bitterness of many a daughter towards her mother has as its

ultimate cause the reproach that the mother has brought her into the
world as a woman instead of a man. 3

The psycho-analytic theory is, in short, this: At an early age

the little girl discovers, by the observation of other children, of
brothers, or of her father, that there are other human beings
who have external genitals whereas she has none. This discovery
comes as a shock to her, "which leaves ineradicable traces on her

development and character formation, and even in the most

favourable instances, is not overcome without a great expenditure
8
Some Character-Types met with in Psycho-Analysis, Collected Papers.
The Feminine Character 389

of mental energy." 4 Her envy of man, based on an anatomical

difference, has an enormous influence on the mental traits of
women. It is responsible for the comparatively greater part envy
and jealousy play in their mental life and the consequent lack of
a sense of justice. It is at the root of the "greater amount of
narcissism attributed by psycho-analysis to women." "Their
vanity partly a further effect of penis-envy, for they are driven
is

to rate their physical charms more highly as a belated compensa-

tion for their original sexual inferiority" [sic]. 5 Feminine beauty
and "especially that of a woman's face is a substitute to her for
6
the loss of a penis."
Modesty "which is regarded as par excellence a characteristic
of women" is, however much modified by civilized conventions,
7
"originally designed to hide the deficiency in their genitals."
If women are thought to have "contributed but little to the
discoveries and inventions of civilization," they may at least be
found inventors of the technical processes of plaiting and weaving
discoveries which owe their origin to the same impulse: to hide
their physical deficiency.
The little girl's attachment to her father, the mature woman's
desire for a child, the mother's particular satisfaction at the birth
of a son, in fact almost all phenomena of feminine psychology,
are explained by psycho-analysis as effects of the same basic envy
and the endeavour to compensate for an organic inferiority. The
woman who comes to the psycho-analyst for treatment is very
often, says Freud, driven by the same impulse. "And what she
quite reasonably expects to get from analysis, such as the capacity
to pursue an intellectual career, can often be recognized as a
sublimated modification of this repressed wish." 8
There are three possible lines of psychological development
as a reaction to the basic experience of woman's organic "de-
ficiency." The one leads to "normal femininity," i.e. to recon-

4
The Psychology of Women, p. 160.
5
Op. cit.
&
J,
Harnik: "The Various Developments Undergone by Narcissism in Men
and Women" (Internat. Journ. of Ps.-An., Vol. V, 1925).
7
S. Freud: The Psychology of Women, p. 170.
8
Ibid., p. 161.
390 Viola Klein

ciliation with the feminine sexual role, to acquiescence in the

passivity that in Freud's view constitutionally goes with it, and
to the desire for a child. In less favourable cases the painful dis-
covery of her "castration" may lead to sexual inhibitions and
to neuroses, or else it may result in a "modification of character
in the sense of a masculinity complex." 9 The term "masculinity

complex" is used in psycho-analytical literature in the widest

sense, including all shadesfrom open homosexuality to mere
"dreams with male tendencies," or to intellectual interests in
normal women. It is conceived so widely that it embraces cases
where

the repressed wish to be male is found in a sublimated form, i.e.

masculine interests of an intellectual and professional character and
other kinds are preferred and accentuated. Femininity, however, is not
consciously denied; they (i.e. women with a "masculinity complex")
usually proclaim that these interests are just as much feminine as
masculine ones. They consider it irrelevant to say that the perform-
ances of a human being, especially in the intellectual sphere, belong to
the one or the other sex. This type of woman is well represented in
10
the woman's movement of to-day.

According to this description the great majority of women

in our day would have failed to develop "normal femininity"
but would have acquired a "masculinity complex" instead. Why
this should be the case, i.e. why in our time the one pattern
should prevail over the other, cannot be answered by psycho-
analysis, according to which both patterns are individual psycho-
logical reactions to the realization of an organic deficiency.
However much Freud was aware of the scope of possible varia-
tions he had no doubts about the "norm." The standards of his
own culture he took for unalterable laws and he was convinced
that the division of labour in force in the middle class of his

period was based on innate sexual differences.

Further and very far-reaching consequences for the psycho-
logical development of women result from the different conditions
8
Ibid.
10
Karl Abraham: "Manifestations of the Female Castration Complex"
(Internat. Journ. of Ps.-An., Vol. Ill, 1922).
The Feminine Character 391

under which the Oedipus complex develops in women and in

men, according to their different anatomical structure.
In her first infancy the pre-Oedipal period the little girl is,
like the little boy, intensely attached to her mother. With the
discovery of her own
"castration" and, later, the realization that
her mother, too, lacks a male genital organ, she turns away from
her mother and chooses her father as a love object. "This means,
therefore, that as a result of the discovery of the absence of a
penis, women are as much depreciated in the eyes of the girl as
in the eyes of the boy, and later, perhaps, of the man." (Note
the matter of fact way in which the contempt of women is taken
for granted!) From her father the little girl expects the male
organ which her mother has refused her; a wish which is later
transformed into the wish for a child by the father.
This development is in striking contrast to that of a boy and
is used to explain a characteristic mental difference between the

sexes. According to psycho-analytical theory every little boy

forms an intense attachment to his mother, the Oedipus complex,
"in which he desires his mother and wants to get rid of his father
as a rival."n Owing, however, to the fear of castration result-
ing either from threats or from the observation that there are
human beings without external sex organs and the fear lest he
may lose his as a punishment he represses his Oedipus-complex.
The result of this repression is the formation of a "super-ego,"
i.e.a rigid system of moral standards and valuations imparting to
the individual a striving for perfection.
As we have seen before, the relation of the two complexes
(Castration and Oedipus) is completely different in the two
sexes. Whereas in the boy they are antagonistic the one being
used to repress the other in the girl there is no such conflict. Her
"castration" is an accomplished fact and no threat of it therefore
exists to counteract her libidinal wishes for her father. She feels
no urgent need to overcome her Oedipus-complex and she
remains in the Oedipus situation for an indefinite period; she abandons
it only late in life, and then only incompletely. The formation of the

super-ego must suffer in these circumstances; it cannot attain the

strength and independence which give it its cultural importance, and
11
The Psychology of Women, p. 166.
392 Viola Klein

feminists are not pleased if one points to the way in which this factor
12
affects the development of the average feminine character.

It is due to these circumstances that women have "weaker

social interests" than men and that "their capacity for sublima-
tion is less." 13 Although Freud would not go as far as to ascribe
to women an inferior intelligence, he prejudices judgments about
their intellectual capacity by the rather axiomatic statement that,

owing to their libidinal organization, women have only a limited

urge for sublimation. Translated into ordinary language this means
thatwomen are, by their organic nature, excluded from participa-
tion in cultural and creative activities. The old argument about
the intellectual faculties of woman has been transferred on to a
different plane; new jargon the traditional view of
clad in a
feminine inferiority here presented afresh.
is

There is, according to Freud's theory, still another impedi-

mental factor in the psychological development of woman. In
her case the transition from infantile to adult sexuality is partic-
ularly difficult again for organic reasons. Libido, "the motor
force of sexual life itself is only one for both sexes and is as
much in the service of the male as of the female sexual function.
To itself we can assign no sex." 14 In its infantile stage it develops
much in the same way in boys and in girls. They both pass
through the oral, sadistic-anal, and the phallic phase (so called
after the organ which at each stage forms the centre of libidinal
satisfaction). They both display the same amount of activity and
aggressiveness. Any difference that exists is due to individual
variations rather than to sex differences.
The organ which in the little girl is the dominant erotogenic
zone and centre of masturbatory activity during the "phallic"
phase is her "penis equivalent," the clitoris. In the transition to
adult sexuality the girl therefore has to change the centre of
sensitivity and to discover, so to speak, a new, hidden organ, the
vagina. Thus, with the development of femininity two important
changes have to be gone through by the girl to which the boy is
not subjected: Change of the love object (the transfer of her
u Ibid., p. 166.
18
Ibid., p. 172.
M Ibid., p. 169.
The Feminine Character 393

attachment from her mother to her father) and, secondly, change

of the erotogenic zones. This process is in Freud's view very
difficult and complicated and absorbs a great amount of mental

energy.

It isour impression that more violence is done to libido when

it isforced into the service of the female function; and that so to
speak teleologically Nature has paid less careful attention to the
demands of the female function than to those of masculinity. And
again speaking teleologically this may be based on the fact that
the achievement of the biological aim is entrusted to the aggressive-
ness of the male, and is to some extent independent of the co-opera-
tion of the female. 15

The peculiar Freudian concept of sexual intercourse as a

purely masculine act, viewed in terms more or less similar to
rape, which underlies the above statement, can be left till later.
At the present moment the main concern is with the psychological
consequences resulting, in Freud's view, from the constitutional
process of maturing femininity. In contrast to the boy for whom
puberty means a stage of new intensification of the libido, for
the girl it is a period of increased repressions. It is the masculine
part of her being which is repressed, coinciding with the transi-
tion of the erotogenic zone from the "masculine" counterpart of
her genitals, the clitoris, to her feminine organ, the vagina. This
repression and the change of centres of sensitivity account for
the greater disposition of women to neurosis and particularly to
16 which in
hysteria consequence is a kind of functional disease
of woman. The absorption of so much mental energy by the
process of developing femininity is, moreover, in part responsible
for the diminished power of sublimation in women. And it is,
according to Freud, due to this process that the psychological
development of woman is arrested at a much earlier age than
that of man.

A man of about thirty seems a youthful and, in a sense, an in-

completely developed individual of whom we expect that he will be
able to make good use of the possibilities of development which analy-

15
Ibid., p. 169.
18
"Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex" (Imago, London, 1942).
394 Viola Klein

sislays open to him. But a woman of about

the same
age frequently
staggers us by her psychological rigidity and unchangeably.
Her
libido has taken up its final positions and seems powerless to leave
them for others. There are no paths open for further development; it
is as though the whole process had been gone through and remained
inaccessible to influences for the future; as though, in fact, the
difficult

development which leads to femininity had exhausted

all possibilities
17
of the individual.

It did not occur to Freud that under the conditions prevalent

in his society a woman of thirty had, in fact, not many "paths
to
open for further development" and not many possibilities
make good use of. At thirty her "final positions" must have

eitherbeen taken up, i.e. she must have been married, or else
she could not have any expectations for the future. This lack
of opportunities would in itself suffice to explain the "rigidity"
and "unchangeably" which Freud observed in his women
patients, without having
to resort to biological hypotheses.

Summing up, the characteristic mental traits associated with

the constitutional structure of women and mentioned so far are:
to envy, jealousy
penis-envy, resulting in a general disposition
and social injustice; a greater amount of narcissism as compared

with that of men; a weaker urge and a smaller capacity for

sublimation, i.e. for cultural activities. To this may be
added a
general antagonism to civilization, caused not so much by wom-
an's physiological structure as by the biological purpose which
she represents.

Women represent the interests of the family and sexual life; the
work of has become more and more men's business; it
civilization
confronts them with ever harder tasks, compels them to sublimations
of instinct which women are not easily able to achieve. Since man
has not an unlimited amount of mental energy at his disposal, he must
accomplish his tasks by distributing his libido to the best advantage.
What he employs for cultural purposes he withdraws to a great extent
from women and his sexual life; his constant association with men and
his dependence on his relations with them even estrange him from
his duties as husband and father. Woman finds herself thus forced

w The Psychology of Women, p. 173.

The Feminine Character 395

into the background by the claims of culture and she adopts an

18
inimical attitude towards it,

The portrait of woman which results if we thus fit together

the details expounded in different contexts certainly is far from
flattering. It represents an envious, hysterical person with limited
intellectual interests and a hostile attitude towards cultural
achievements.
The implicit assertion of man's primary superiority, which was
in strange contrast to contemporary changes in the cultural
role of women, has been a stumbling-block to many psycho-

analysts and has evoked doubts and divergencies among some of

Freud's disciples. Ernest Jones, for instance, said in 1927: "There
is a healthy suspicion growing that men analysts have been led
to adopt an unduly phallocentric view of the problems in ques-
tion, the importance of the female organs being correspondingly
underestimated." 19

Karen Homey, too, has taken Freud's interpretation of femi-

nine psychology as a challenge of "masculine narcissism" and
opposed it by an assertion of the feminine point of view within
psycho-analytical theory. To confront the two views affords an
interesting example of the same set of premises, the same method
of investigation and the same scientific terminology being used
to defend two divergent standpoints. Karen Horney would agree
with Freud that the little girl is in fact constitutionally at a
disadvantage compared with the little boy, Her organic struc-
ture makes the gratification of certain (exhibitionistic and mas-
turbatory) tendencies more difficult for her, and the greater ease
with which a boy can satisfy his impulse to investigate by examin-
ing his own body may be the basis for greater objectivity and for
a greater interest in external objects in the man. But and here
Karen Horney is in striking contrast to Freud "when she reaches
maturity a great part in sexual life (as regards creative power
perhaps even a greater part than that of men) devolves upon a
15
Civilization and Its Discontent, p. 73, 2nd ed., Hogarth Press, London,
1939.
19
"Early Development of Female Sexuality" (Internat. Jour, of Ps.-An.,
1927).
396 Viola Klein

20 Her
woman- I mean when she becomes a mother." capacity
for motherhood is so Karen Horney asserts an "indisputable
intense envy in boys.
superiority" of woman and is the cause of
This envy of feminine productivity is a dynamic factor in mascu-
line psychology and "serves as one, if not as the essential, driving
21
Karen Horney
force in the setting up of cultural values."
admits that the cultural productivity has been incomparably
"is not the tremen-
greater in men than in women, but, she asks,
dous strength in men of the impulse to creative work in every
field precisely due to the feeling of playing a relatively
small part
in the creation of living beings, which constantly impels
them
to an over-compensation in achievement?" The penis-envy in
women has not found a corresponding compensatory expression,
"either becauseit is absolutely less than the envy of men," or

because in normal cases it is transformed into a desire for hus-

band and child and in this way loses its power as an "incentive
to sublimation." If, nevertheless, a "flight from womanhood" can
be observed in women, it is due not to primary instinct but to
the experience of real physical and social disadvantages. Her
sense of inferiority is not constitutional but acquired.
Karen Horney's reply to Freud is an almost exact inversion of
his theory. To his masculine claim of superiority she opposes
her claim to feminine biological superiority; his assumption of
of "envy
penis-envy in women she answers with her assumption
of motherhood" in men; and Freud's contention that sexual

activity is a masculine prerogative, and that "the

achievement of
the biological aim is entrusted to the aggressiveness of the male,"
she contradicts with the statement that the greater part in sexual
life and actual biological creation devolves upon women.

20
Karen Homey: "On the Genesis of the Castration Complex in Women'"
Vol.
V, Jan., 1924).
(Internat. Jour, of Ps.-An.,
21
Karen Horney: "The Flight from Womanhood: The Masculinity Complex
in Women as Viewed by Men and by Women" (Internat. Jour, of Ps.-An.,
Vol. VII, 1926).
More recently another psycho-analyst, Gregory Zilboorg, equally "inclined to
think that it is not penis-envy on the part of woman, but woman-envy on the1
part of man, that is psychologically older and therefore more fundamental/
has made a new departure in psycho-analytical theory based on the assumption
of a basic feminine superiority in his study: "Masculine and Feminine. Some
Bioi'gical and Cultural Aspects" (Psychiatry, Vol. 7, Aug., 1944, No. 3).
The Feminine Character 397

The whole argument looks like a bid for supremacy between

two highly interested competitors. It certainly shows how hard
it is to achieve scientific detachment in matters of personal con-

cern. And it bears witness to the competitive spirit that has

animated discussions about feminine traits ever since women
voiced their claims to consideration as complete individuals and
pretenders to the Rights of Man.
Against the rather obvious accusation of masculine partiality
Freud defends his position with a gallant gesture towards women
which is quite an amusing example of chivalry entering a scien-
tific argument:

Whenever a comparison was made which seemed to be unfavour-

able to their sex, the ladies were able to express a suspicion that we,
the men analysts, had never overcome certain deep-rooted prejudices
against the feminine, and that consequently our investigation suffered
from bias. On the other hand, on the basis of bisexuality, we found it

easy to avoid any impoliteness. We had only to say: "This does not
apply to you. You are an exception, in this respect you are more
masculine than feminine." a

Freud could not have given away his attitude of masculine

superiority more clearly than by this polite bow to the "ladies"
and his willingness to distinguish some of them with the order of
merit of being "more masculine than feminine."
As the bisexuality referred to in the above quotation is a
corner-stone in Freud's libido-theory it still needs closer examina-
tion. The bisexuality of all living organisms is one of the more
recent discoveries of biological science. We
have met with some
of its implications for human psychology both in Havelock Ellis's
and means, in short, that every individ-
in Weininger's theories. It
ual has, at least potentially not actually, the characteristics of
if

both sexes, but normally develops the one set to. a greater extent
than the other. There is no clear-cut line between absolute mas-
culinity and absolute femininity, but reality presents us with a
mixture of both in different proportions which vary considerably
with each individual. It is, in Freud's words, "as though the

!
The Psychology of 'Women, pp. 149-50.
398 Viola Klein

individual were neither man nor woman, but both at the same
other." 23
time, only rather more the one than the
In order to determine the proportion of the two elements in
a given mixture one has first to reduce these to their fundamental
essence for instance, Weininger has done with the stipulation
as,
of two pure types M
and W. For Freud the contrast masculine-
feminine is, ultimately, the contrast between active and passive;
or, to be more exact: masculinity implies activity, femininity is
characterized by a "preference for passive aims," which is not
a good deal of activ-
quite the same as passivity. ("It may require
24 In Freud's own words:
ity to achieve a passive end.")

Psychoanalysis has a common basis with biology in that it pre-

supposes an original bisexuality in human beings (as

in animals).

But psychoanalysis cannot elucidate the intrinsic nature of what in

conventional or in biological phraseology is termed "masculine" and
"feminine": it simply takes over the two concepts and makes
them
the foundation of its work. When we attempt to reduce them further
we find masculinity vanishing into activity and femininity into pas-
25
sivity and that does not tell us enough.

Now, a peculiar and interesting phenomenon that in

it is

Freud's interpretation "bisexuality" has a distinctly masculine

connotation. The period in human life in which bisexuality is

most pronounced is, naturally, early childhood, i.e. the time

before adult sexuality, secondary sex characteristics, and psycho-
logical corollaries intensify
the tendencies towards one sex rather
than the other. At that age we find children of both sexes develop-
ing the same kind of activity and aggressiveness
and a sexuality
centered on a "masculine" genital. (In girls it is represented by a
corresponding but, so to speak, underdeveloped organ
an "in-
Deutsch 26 the
adequate substitute," as Helene calls it clitoris.)

The auto-eroticism of both boys and girls is masculine in char-

acter.

Equally, libido, which as the instinctual source

of energy to
28 146.
Ibid., p.
34 148.
Ibid., p.
25
"The Psychogenesis of a Case of Homosexuality in a Woman" (Coll.
Papers, pp. 202-32, London, 1920).
^Helene Deutsch: "The Psychology of Women in Relation to the Func-
tions of Reproduction" (Jntemat. Jour, of Ps.-An., Vol. VI, 1925).
 The Feminine Character 395>

both men and women

is understood to be bisexual, actually, if

we keep to Freud's definition of masculinity =

activity, is a mas-
culine force. Freud himself remarks that "libido could always be
called 'masculine,' no matter whether it appears in man or in
woman, in the sense that, asan instinct, it is always active, even
if directed towards a passive aim." 27
This identification of the masculine with an absolute norm is
a remarkable example of the way in which, in a masculine cul-
ture, standards of the one sex are generalized and represented as
neutral here called bisexual and taken as valid for mankind
in general, irrespective of sex. Georg Simmel, the German sociol-
28 that the same is true of all
ogist, has pointed out the values
of our culture: the historical development has been such that
all categories of our thinking, all norms of our ethics, all artistic

forms and social institutions are based on this equation of mascu-

lineand "objective" which transforms a psychological superiority,
resulting from a superior power position, into a logical one. In
the same way, says Simmel, every government based on subjective
force tries to defend its authority by an objective justification and
thus to transform might into right. The psychological mechanism
by which this generalization of the masculine norm is performed
is described by Simmel in a passage which is worth quoting in
full:

To take from two opposite notions, which derive their meaning and
value from each other, one, and to raise this one to embrace and
dominate once more the whole game of give and take and of balance,
this time in an absolute sense, is a thoroughly human tendency, pre-
sumably of deep metaphysical origin, which has found an historic
paradigm in the fundamental sexual relation of Man.
The fact that the male sex is not only considered relatively superior
to the female, but that it is taken as the universal human norm, applied
equally to the phenomena of the individual masculine and of the
individual feminine this fact is, in many different ways, based on the

power position of the male. If we express the historic relation between

the sexes crudely in terms of master and slave, it is part of the master's

27
S. Freud: "Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex" (Imago, London,
1942).
38
Georg Simmel: "Das Relative und das Absolute im Geschlechterproblern"
(Fhilosophisclje ICultur, Leipzig, 1911).
400 Viola Klein

privileges not to have to think continuously of the fact that he is the

master, while the position of the slave carries with it the constant
reminder of his being a slave. It cannot be overlooked that the
woman forgets far less often the fact of being a woman than the
man of being a man. Innumerable times the man seems to think purely

objectively, without his masculinity entering his consciousness at all.

On the other hand it seems as if the woman would never completely
lose the more or less vague feeling of being a woman; this feeling
forms the ever-present background underlying all her experiences of
life. Because masculinity, as a differential factor, in phantasies and

principles, in achievements and emotional complexes, escapes the

consciousness of its protagonists more easily than is the case with
femininity in the corresponding situation (for within the sphere of his
activities man's interest in his relation to the Feminine is not as vital
as woman's interest in her relation to the Masculine) expressions of
masculinity are easily elevated for us to the realm of a supra-specific,
neutral objectivity and validity (to which their specifically masculine
connotation, if noticed at all, is subordinated as something individual
and casual). This fact evident in the extremely frequent phenome-
is

non that certain judgments, institutions, aims, or interests which we

men, naively so to speak, consider purely objective, are felt by
women to be thoroughly and characteristically masculine.

In generalizing the masculine type and making it a universal

norm Freud went further than anyone else: for, to him, even
being equipped with male sex organs is part of the general stand-
ard, to the extent that the "poverty in external genitals" (in K.
Abraham's term) isconsidered to be an organic deficiency, and
that woman is supposed to regard her own biological function
(i.e. the ability to bear children) as a compensation for her
constitutional inadequacy. It seems plausible to Freud and his
school that one half of humanity should have biological reasons
to feel at a disadvantage for not having what the other half
possesses (but not vice versa).
The adoption of masculine standards as the absolute norm
applicable to mankind as a whole has two equally harmful re-
sults for the judgment of women. The one is a mystifying over-
estimation of woman by virtue of those qualities which cannot
be explained by male criteria. The other is contempt for human
beings who fail to live up to the norm.
The Feminine Character 401

In Freud's writings we find both attitudes represented: on the

one hand the wonder at the the approach to
"enigmatic" woman,
feminine psychology as a "riddle" to be solved, and a theory
which views the development of femininity as a particularly
"difficultand complicated process"; on the other hand there is
the contempt as we had sufficient occasion to see for her
inferior intellectual capacities, her greater vanity, her weaker
sexual instincts, her disposition to neuroses and hysteria, and for
her constitutional passivity. The latter is, in Freud's view, as-
sociated with masochistic tendencies. There he says, in femi-
is,

nine psychology "some secret relationship with masochism."

"The repression of their aggressiveness, which is imposed upon
women by their constitution and by society, favours the develop-
ment of strong masochistic impulses, which have the effect of
binding erotically the destructive tendencies which have been
turned inward." 29 This contention has been worked out by
Helene Deutsch into a theory according to which masochistic
wishes to be violated and humiliated both physically and men-
tally are the clue to feminine psychology. Her view of sexual
intercourse as a "sadistic act of taking possession" on the part
of man, and a "masochistic subjugation" on the part of woman30
is but the elaboration of an assumption ever recurring in psycho-

analytical literature: the view that "sexual activity is essentially

associated with the male organ, that the woman is only in the
position to excite the man's libido or respond to it, and that
otherwise she is compelled to adopt a waiting attitude,"
31
that,
moreover, the sex instinct in woman is weaker and that she
derives only a limited or indirect satisfaction from sexual inter-
course. Ferenczi has developed this view into a "Genital Theory"
according to which the sexual impulse is ultimately man's wish
to return into the mother's womb a meaning which the sexual
act cannot assume for woman, who therefore has no fundamental
impulse for, or primary satisfaction from coitus. What pleasure
she does derive results partly by way of a "masochistic conversion

The Psychology of Women, pp. 148-9.

30
Helene Deutsch: "The Significance of Masochism in the Mental Life of
Women" (Internat. Jour, of Ps.-An., 1930).
81
K. Abraham: "Manifestations of the Female Castration Complex" (Inter.
Journ. of Ps.-An., Vol. Ill, 1922).
4Q2 Viola Klein

child which she may con-

and partly by identification with the
ceive. These, however, are only compensatory devices."
The
feminine attitude towards sex is, like other traits, considered by
psycho-analytical theory to be based
on organic constitution and
and therefore part of the unchanging
"human
biological function
nature." Evidences to the contrary which are supplied by other
cultures are disregarded, although they are numerous. In
Hindu
books, for instance such as Kdmasutrdm and Andngardnga
women's urge of love is reckoned to be "eight times as potent
as that of man"; the code of Manu states that "women
are by

their very nature experts in the seduction of men, henue man

should avoid being found even with his nearest kin in lonely
."; Ovid, in his Ars Amandi, considers woman's
places . .

uncontrollable passion "ten times fiercer than ours and full of

madness"; in the famous medieval novel Roman de la Rose it
is

said: "A virtuous woman; Nay, I swear by good St. Denis that
this is more is a phoenix"; and in a seventeenth-century
rare than
book by Vendette a passage runs thus: "In love-affairs
men are
mere children in comparison with women; women have, in such
matters, a greater imagination and command more
time to dwell
on the affairs of the heart; they are more lascivious and love-sick
than men." 32
It thus appears that judgments on the strength or weakness of

the sex impulse in women are not based on organic facts but are
in accordance with a cultural pattern, and vary with time and
milieu. In Western civilization during the nineteenth and at the
beginning of the twentieth century it would have been not only
scandalous to admit the existence of a strong sex urge in women,
but it would have been contrary to all observation. And although
the enforcement of rules of conduct and of so many restrictions
was deemed prudent in order to keep up the illusion of "innate"
feminine virtuousness, it never occurred to our fathers and
grandfathers that it was but an illusion
and that, had this not
been so, the rigorous supervision of their daughters and wives
would hardly have been necessary.

Examples quoted from The Riddle of Woman (op. cTt) By Joseph

32

Tenenbaum, who gives these and more instances in his chapter on "The Sex
Urge in Woman."
The Feminine Character 403

Even Karen Homey, the "equalitarian" among the psycho-

would not go as far as to oppose to the masculine sex
analysts,
impulse a corresponding primary feminine sex impulse, but
would base her claims to feminine equality on woman's capacity
for motherhood. It thus seems that in psycho-analytical theory
it is understood that there are two different instincts in men and

women: a sex instinct which is masculine, and an instinct of

procreation which is feminine.

Underlying assumption, as well as other psycho-analytical

this

ideas, is the Victorian notion that "sexual activity is lawfully

masculine" (this is Freud's term), but that for women sexuality
is a matrimonial duty they have to put up with. To admit that

from her sexual function a woman could derive an equal amount

of satisfaction, pleasure, happiness and, if it comes to it, even
sense of power with man, would have been shocking to Vic-
torian ideology. The same attitude is also at the bottom of
Freud's theory of penis-envy; it is the inability to understand that
woman no less than man has been equipped by Nature with a
sex instinct and the means to gratify it, and that, if she has any
reasons for envying man, they are not likely to be of a physio-
logical character.
Alfred Adler, who had made inferiority feelings and 'the
"masculine protest" the central ideas of his Individual Psychol-
ogy, comes nearer to a sociological interpretation when he asserts
that in our competitive culture the dichotomy masculine-fem-
inine has assumed a symbolic value, serving as an analogy to
more general ideas of socially "superior" and "inferior," of
"above" and "below." In a society based, like ours, on individual
competition, Adler finds two unconscious presuppositions under-
lying the thoughts of both his men and women patients: first,
that "human relations in all circumstances represent a struggle,"
and, secondly, that "the feminine sex is inferior and by its reac-
33 Therefore
tion serves as the measure of masculine strength."
the struggle upwards assumes the form of what Adler calls the

"masculine protest," i.e. a fight against those qualities in oneself

which by tradition and consent usually are associated with the
33
Alfred Adler: The Practice and Theory of Individual Psychology (Kegan
Paul. London, 1924, p. 35K
404 Viola Klein

feminine sex, such as weakness, timidity, shyness, passivity,

prudishness, etc. Adler's "masculine protest" represents all striv-
and all
ings for "strength, greatness, riches, knowledge, victory,"
"coarseness, cruelty, violence, and activity as such." As the child
wants
grows up into a hard and competitive world increasingly
it

to get rid of those qualities which hamper its struggle for exist-
ence.

The normal craving of the child for nestling, the exaggerated sub-
missiveness of the neurotically-disposed individual, the feeling^ of
the realiza-
weakness, of inferiority protected by hyper-sensitiveness,
aside
tion of actual futility, the sense of being permanently pushed
and of being at a disadvantage, all these are gathered together into a
feeling of femininity. On the contrary,
active strivings, both in the
case of a girl as of a boy, the pursuit of self-gratification, the stirring
forward as a
up of instincts and passions are thrown challengingly
84
masculine protest.

The terms "masculine" and "feminine" are clearly used here

the one implies ali
as symbols of a contrasting pair of values:
desirable qualities, the other one is associated with all
positive,
This analogy is based, Adler
negative, despicable characteristics.
says, on a "false evaluation but one which is extensively nourished
by our social life."
Envy of men, refutation of the feminine role, attempts to
compete with men, or to copy them in order to feel "complete
individuals," contempt for their own inferiority these are the
Freud
phenomena observed in their women patients both by
and by Adler and occupying a central position in their respective
theories. But while Psycho-analysis seeks a biological explanation
and regards these attitudes as conscious rationalizations designed
to cover up an underlying organic deficiency, Individual Psychol-

ogy views them as the expression of a striving for power, a power

which in our society is associated with the male sex.
It is as well to remind ourselves that the beginning of women's

emancipation coincided with the height of capitalist expansion

and liberal ideology and that both theories originated at this time.
The striving for power which Adler took as the primary motive

**Op. cit, (p. 2,.

The Feminine Character 405

in human psychology is a typical characteristic of a competitive

culture. Women who endeavoured to participate in this culture
did so on a competitive basis. Out of their feminine seclusion
they came into the open and found all places occupied by men.
When they wanted to contend with them on the ground of a
philosophy of Human Rights they found themselves classified as
hors concours because of their sex. No doubt this disqualification
was resented by a very great number of them, who reacted to
it ways: with envy, hatred, revolt, inferiority feelings,
in different
increased exertions to make themselves acceptable by adopting
as completely as possible the rules of the game (Freud's "mas-

culinity complex") and other reactions listed by Freud under

the heading of "penis-envy." The resentment is likely to find a
most acute expression in unbalanced personalities, such as the
neurotics who are the pat?"eots and objects of the psychiatrist's
There
investigation. is no doubt that the factual observations

made by Freud are correct. They are valid, that is to say, for
the class of people who made up his objects of observation: the
neurotic persons of middle and upper middle-class origin in the
Central-European society of his time. They are also valid, most
probably with corresponding modifications, in every society with
strong patriarchal traditions. For Freud and his orthodox pupils
there was no doubt that the patients they analysed, and the peo-
ple they met, were representatives of "the" human type. Future
research will have to concentrate on defining the specific charac-
ter of the field of observation on the basis of comparative evi-
dence. A
modified Freudian theory will have to include such
social and
cultural factors as particular influences of the environ-
ment, the power of prevailing traditions, ideals and historical
institutions.
It was in a sense rather fortunate for psycho-analytical theory
that, owing to otherwise very fateful political developments in
Central Europe, a great number of its supporters had to go
abroad. In foreign countries they came into close contact with
divergent cultural patterns and different personality types. In
consequence there came into existence mainly in the United
States of America a new type of psycho-analyst who, while
preserving the fundamental achievements of the Freudian school,
406 Viola Klein

became increasingly culture-conscious and inclined to a more

sociological orientation. This new trend has, of course, not af-
fected all exiled psycho-analysts. Helene Deutsch, for instance,
has only recently published a Psychology of Woman, 35 in which
she restates her former orthodox views. But the number of psy-
cho-analysts with a definite leaning to sociology is large enough
to be regarded as a new psycho-analytical "school." Among
these are Karen Horney, Erich Fromm, Clara Thompson and
others. (Paul Bousfield has, in this country, expressed similar
tendencies.) These people are supported not only by their own
experience but by anthropology and sociology two sciences of
a fairly recent development in their conviction that there is no
"universal man" or "universal woman," but that human beings
have to be studied in relation to their milieu or, to use the
technical term, to the "cultural pattern." The realization that
in different societies women fulfil different social functions and
accordingly display different attitudes and mental characteristics
has shattered the idea of the all-powerful influence of anatomy
and biological facts on character-traits. As Clara Thompson has
36
pointed out, possible to explain every single trait attributed
it is

by Freud to a biologically determined development of the libido

(such as all the implications of "penis-envy," the repression of

aggressiveness, passivity and masochism, the narcissistic need to

be loved, the rigidity, i.e. prematurely arrested character develop-
ment of women, the weaker super-ego, etc.) by the influence of
"cultural pressures," that is by the impact of a concrete historical
dtuation on character structures.
To suppose that human beings are born as "tabulae rasae"
on which every trait is to be impressed by social and cultural
influences of the surroundings would certainly be no less a mis-
take than to assume that "anatomy is destiny." The dangers of a
one-sided stress on environmental factors, which a purely socio-
logical point of view might entail, has been considerably reduced
by the new turn which psycho-analytical theory has been taking,
and no doubt, the integration of psycho-analytical with socio-

85
Dr. Helene Deutsch: Psychology of Woman (Grune & Stratton, 1944).
38
Clara Thompson: "Cultural Pressures in the Psychology of Women/' pub-
lished in Psychiatry, Vol, V, No. 3, Baltimore, Aug. 1942.
 The Feminine Character 407

logical thinking which we are witnessing at present will be most

fruitful in its effects both on psychological and sociological
knowledge.

References

s. FREUD: "The Psychology of Women" (Chapter XXXIII, New Introductory

Lectures, Hogarth Press, London, 1933).
"Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex" (Imago, London, 1942).
Taboo of Virginity, 1918.
Civilization and Its Discontent (Hogarth Press, London, 1930).
Totem and Taboo (Kegan Paul, London, 1919).
The Psychogenesis of a Case of Homosexuality in a Woman (Collected
Papers, London, 1920).
"Civilized Sexual Morality and Modern Nervousness" (Collected Papers,
Vol. London, 1924).
2,

Analysis Terminable and Unterminable (London, 1937).

"Some Psychological Consequences of the Anatomical Distinction Between
the Sexes" (Internat. Jour, of Ps.-An., London, 1927).
K. ABRAHAM: "Manifestations of the Female Castration Complex" (Internat.
Jour, of Ps.-An., Vol. Ill, March, 1922).
PAUL BOUSFIELD: Sex and Civilization (Kegan Paul, London,
1925).
c. D. DALY: "The Psychology of Man's Attitude Towards Woman" (British
Jour, of Medic. Psychology, Vol. X, 1930).
HELENE DEUTSCH: "The Psychology of Women in Relation to the Functions
of Reproduction" (Internat. Jour, of Ps.-An., Vol. VI, 1925).
"The Significance of Masochism in the Mental Life of Women" (Internat.
/our. of Ps.-An., 1930).
Psychology of Woman (Grune & Stratton, 1944).
j. HARNIK: "The Various Developments Undergone by Narcissism in Mer*
and Women" (Internat. Jour, of Ps.-An., Vol. V, 1925).
KAREN HORNEY: "On the Genesis of the Castration Complex in Women"
(Internat. lour, of Ps.-An., Vol. V, January 1924).
"The Flight from Womanhood: The Masculinity in Women as Viewed by
Men and by Women" (Internat. Jour, of Ps.-An., Vol. VII, 1926).
"The Denial of the Vagina" (Internat. Jour, of Ps.-An., 1933).
The Neurotic Personality of Our Time (Kegan
Paul, London, 1937).
New Ways in Psycho-Analysis
(Kegan Paul, London, 1939).
ERNEST JONES: "Early Development of Female Sexuality (Internat. Jour, of
Ps.-An., 1927).
"Phallic Phase" (Internat. Jour, of Ps.-An., 1927) .
j. H. w. VAN OPHUISEN: "Contributions to the Masculinity Complex in
Women" (Internat. Jour, of Ps.-An., Vol. V, 1924).
408 Viola Klein

CLARA THOMPSON: "The Role of Women in this Culture" (Psychiatry, Vol.

1941).
4,
"Cultural Pressures in the Psychology of Women" (Psychiatry, Vol. 5,

1942).
"
'Penis Envy' in Women" (Psychiatry, Vol. 6, 1943).
ALFRED ADLER: The Practice and Theory of Individual
Psychology (Kegan
London, 1924).
Paul,
ALICE RUHLE-GERSTEL: Freud und Adler (Dresden, 1924).
Das Frauenproblem der Gegenwart (Leipzig, 1932).
ERWIN WEXBERG: Individual Psychology and Sex (Jonathan Cape, London,
1931).
GEORG SIMMEL: "Das Relative und das Absolute im Geschlechterproblem"
(PhiJosophische Kulrur, Leipzig, 1911).
GREGORY ZILBOORG: "Masculine and Feminine Some Biological and Cultural
Aspects" (Psychiatry, Vol. 7, 1944).
 24

CLARA THOMPSON
Some Effects of the Derogatory
4
Attitude Towards Female Sexuality

In an earlier paper 1 I stressed the fact that the actual envy of

the penis as suchis not as important in the psychology of women

as their envy of the position of the male in our society. This

position of privilege and alleged superiority is symbolized by
the possession of a penis. The owner of this badge of power has
special opportunities while those without have more limited
possibilities. I questioned in that paper whether the penis in its
own right as a sexual organ was necessarily an object of envy at
all.

That there are innate biological differences between the sexual

lifeof man and woman is so obvious that one must apologize for
mentioning it. Yet those who stress this aspect most are too often
among the first to claim knowledge of the psychic experiences
and feelings of the opposite sex. Thus for many centuries male
writers have been busy trying to explain the female. In recent
years a few women have attempted to present the inner life of
their own sex, but they themselves seem to have had difficulty in

freeing their thinking from the male orientation. Psychoanalysts,

female as well as male, seem for the most part still to be domi-
nated by Freud's thinking about women.
*
Read at a Symposium on Feminine Psychology, given under the auspices
of the Department of Psychiatry of the New York Medical College, March 19,
1950. Reprinted by permission of The William Alanson White Psychiatric
Foundation, Inc. from Psychiatry, 1950, 13:349-354. Copyright, 1950, by The
William Alanson White Psychiatric Foundation, Inc.
3
Clara Thompson, "Penis Envy inWomen," Psychiatry (1943) 6:123-125.
409
410 Clara Thompson

Freud was a very perceptive thinker but he was a male, and

a male quite ready to subscribe to the theory of male superiority
his
prevalent in the culture. This must have definitely hampered
in a woman's those
understanding of experiences life, especially

specifically associated with her feminine

role.

Of course this thinking can be carried to extreme lengths

and
one can say that no human being can really know what another
the
human being actually experiences about anything. However,
presence of similar organs justifies us in thinking that we can at
least approximate an understanding of another person's experi-
ences in many cases, A headache, a cough, a pain in the heart,
intestinal cramps, weeping, laughter, joy, a sense of well-being
we assume that all of these feel to other people very similar to
what we ourselves experience under those titles.

In the case of sexual experiences, however, one sex has no

adequate means of identifying with the experience of the other
sex.A woman, for instance, cannot possibly be sure that she
knows what the subjective experience of an erection and male
orgasm is. Nor can a man identify with the tension and sensations
of menstruation, or female genital excitation, or child birth. Since
for many years most of the psychoanalysts were men this may ac-
count for the prevalence of some misconceptions about female
sexuality. Homey pointed out in 1926 that
Freud's theory that
little girls believed they had been castrated and that they envied
2
boys their penises is definitely a male orientation to the subject.
In this paper she listed several ideas which little boys have about
girls' genitals. These ideas,
she shows, are practically identical
with the classical psychoanalytic conception of the female. The
little boys' ideas are based on the assumption that girls also have

penises, which results in a shock at the discovery of their absence.

A boy, reasoning from his own life experience, assumes this is
a mutilation, as a punishment for sexual misdemeanor. This
makes more vivid to him any castration threats which have been
made to him. He concludes that the girl must feel inferior and
envy him because she must have come to the same conclusions
about her state. In short, the little boy, incapable of imagining

2
Karen Homey, "Flight from Womanhood/' Internal J. Psycho-Analysis
(1926) 7:324-339.
Effects of Derogatory Attitude Towards Female Sexuality 411

that one could feel complete without a penis, assumes that the
must feel deprived. It is doubtless true that her lack of
little girl

a penis can activate any latent anxiety the boy may have about
the security of his own organ, but it does not necessarily follow
that the girl feels more insecure because of it.
In the "Economic Problem of Masochism" 3
Freud assumes
that masochism
a part of female sexuality, but he gives as his
is

evidence the phantasies of passive male homosexuals. What a

passive male homosexual imagines about the experience of being
a woman is not necessarily similar to female sexual experience.
In fact, a healthy woman's sexual life is probably not remotely
similar to the phantasies and longings of a highly disturbed
passive male personality.
I heard to my amazement that a well-known psychia-
Recently
tristhad told a group of students that in the female sexual life
there is no orgasm. I can only explain such a statement by assum-
ing that this man could not conceive of orgasm in the absence
of ejaculation. If he had speculated that the female orgasm must
be a qualitatively different experience from that of the male
because of the absence of ejaculation, one could agree that this
may well be the case. I think these examples suffice to show that
many current ideas about female psychosexual life may be dis-
torted by being seen through male eyes.
In "Sex and Character" 4 Fromm has pointed out that the
biological differences in the sexual experience may contribute
to greater emphasis on one or the other character trends in the
two sexes. Thus he notes that for the male it is necessary to be
able to perform, while no achievement is required of the female.
This, he believes, can have a definite effect on the general charac-
ter trends. This gives the man a greater need to demonstrate, to
produce, to have power, while the woman's need is more in the
direction of being accepted, being desirable. Since her satisfaction
isdependent on the man's ability to produce, her fear is in being
abandoned, being frustrated, while his is fear of failure. Fromm
points out that the woman can make herself available at any
time and give satisfaction to the man, but the man's possibility of
8
Freud, Collected Papers 2:255-268; London, Hogarth Press, 1925.
*
Erich Fromm, "Sex and Character," Psychiatry (1943) 6:21-31.
412 Clara Thompson

satisfying her is not entirely within his control. He cannot always

produce an erection at will.
effect of basic sexual differences on the character structure
The
is not pertinent to this paper. Fromm's thesis that the ability to
perform is important in male sexual life, that it is especially a
matter of concern to the male because it is not entirely within
his control, and that the female may perform at all times if she
so wishes, are points of importance in my thesis. But I should
like to develop somewhat different aspects of the situation.
Fromm shows that the woman can at any time satisfy the male,
and he mentions the male's concern over successfully perform-
discuss how
ing for the female, but he does not at any point
in the total
important obtaining satisfaction for themselves is

reaction.
In general the male gets at least some physiological satisfaction

out of his sexual performance. experiences are more

Some
than others, to be sure, and there are cases of orgasm
pleasurable
without pleasure. However, for the very reason that he cannot
force himself to perform, he is less likely to find himself in the
midst of a totally uncongenial situation.
The female, however, who permits herself to be used when she
isnot sexually interested or is at most only mildly aroused fre-
quently finds herself in the midst of
an unsatisfactory experience.
At most she can have only a vicarious satisfaction in the male's
pleasure. I might mention parenthetically
here that some male
for example Ferenczi, are inclined to think that identi-
analysts,
fication with the male in his orgasm constitutes a woman's true
I would question.
sexual fulfillment. This
One frequently finds resentment in women who have for some

reason consented to being used for the male's pleasure. This is

in many cases covered by an attitude of resignation. frequent A
answer from women when they are asked about marital sexual
relations is: "It is all right. He doesn't bother me much." This
attitude may hold even when in other respects the husband and
wife like each other; that is, such an attitude may exist even when
the woman has not been intimidated by threats or violence. She
simply assumes that her interests are not an important considera-
tion.
Effects of Derogatory Attitude Towards Female Sexuality 413

Obviously the sexual act is satisfactory to the woman only

when she actively and from choice participates in her own char-
acteristic way. If she considered herself free to choose, she would
refuse the male except when she actually did desire to participate,
This being the case, it might be fruitful to examine the situa-
tions in which the woman submits with little or no interest. There
are, of course, occasions when she genuinely wishes to do this
for the man's sake; this does not create a problem. More fre-
quently the cause is a feeling of insecurity in the relationship;
this insecurity may arise from external factors that is, the male
concerned may insist on his satisfaction or else! The insecurity
may also arise from within because of the woman's own feelings
of inadequacy. These feelings may arise simply from the fact that
the woman subscribes to the cultural attitude that her needs are
not as insistent as the man's; but in addition she may have per-
sonal neurotic difficulties.
The question arises, How has it become socially acceptable for
a man to insist on his sexual rights whenever he desires? Is this
because rape a possibility, and the woman is physically rela-
is

tively defenseless? This must have had some influence in the

course of society's development. However, it has often been
proved that even rape is not easy without some cooperation from

the woman. The neurotic condition of vaginismus illustrates that

in some conditions even unconscious unwillingness on the part of
the woman may effectively block male performance. So while the
superior physical power of the male may be an important factor
in the frequency of passive compliance, there must be other
factors. These other factors are not of a biological nature, for
the participation in sexual relations without accompanying excite^-
ment is most obviously possible in human females, although not
definitely impossible in other animals.
One must look to cultural attitudes for the answer.
There are
two general concepts which are significant here, and to which
both men and women subscribe in our culture. One is that the
female sexual drive is not as pressing or important as the male.
Therefore there is less need to be concerned in satisfying it or
considering it. The other is the analytically much discussed thesis
that the female sex organs are considered inferior to those of
the male.
414 Clara Thompson

In recent years there has been a definite tendency to move

away from the first idea as far as actual sexual performance is
concerned. With the increasing tendency to be more open in
observing facts about sex, women in many groups have become
able not only to admit to themselves but also to men that their
sexual needs are important. However, this is still not true of all
groups. Moreover, at almost the same time another important
aspect of woman's sexual life has diminished in importance; that
is, the bearing of children. Woman's specific type of creativeness

is no longer highly desired in many situations. This is an im-

portant subject in itself and will not be discussed here.
As we know, during the Victorian era a woman's sexual needs
were supposed to be practically nonexistent. A
woman was ex-
pected to be able to control her sexual desires at all times. Thus
an extramarital pregnancy was allegedly entirely due to the
woman's weakness or depravity. The man's participation in such
an extramarital relationship was looked upon with more toler-
ance, and there was little or no social disgrace attached to him.
The double standard of sexual morality also implied an assump-
tion that woman's sexual drive was not as insistent as the male's.
The be concealed
fact that evidence of erotic excitement could
much better by a than by a man made the development
woman
of such thinking possible. Since she was not supposed to be erotic
and since the man must have his. satisfaction, a pattern was de-
veloped in which the dutiful wife offered herself to her husband
without actively participating in the act herself. I am sure many
women were sufficiently normal to find nonparticipation difficult,
and doubtless many men did not subscribe to the feeling that they
should be horrified at any evidence of passion in their wives.
Nevertheless as recently as twenty years ago a woman, who con-
sulted me about her marital difficulties, reported that her husband
felt disgust, it seemed, whenever she responded sexually to him.

She tried to conceal her sexual responses, including orgasm, from

him, then would lie awake the rest of the night in misery and
rage. Since I saw this woman only twice, I am not in a position
to say how much this situation contributed to her suicide about
a year later. Undoubtedly there were many other difficulties in
her relation to her husband of which the sexual may have been
only one expression. Certainly this extreme denial of sexual
Effects of Derogatory Attitude Towards Female Sexuality 415

interest seldom required of women today, but an attenuated

is

form remains, especially in marriage. Here it is found not

still

only in frigid women who, realizing their inadequacy as mates,

make amends as best they can by a nonparticipating offering of
themselves. But one also finds the attitude even in women with
adequate sexual responsiveness in many situations. They have
accepted the idea that the male's needs are greater than their
own and that therefore his wishes and needs are paramount.
So the feeling that woman's sexual life is not as important or
insistent as the male's may produce two unfortunate situations.
It may inhibit the woman's natural expressions of desire for
fear of appearing unwomanly, or it may lead her to feel she
must be ready to accommodate on all occasions that is, she
has no rights of her own. Both extremes mean an interference
with her natural self-expression and spontaneity with resulting
resentment and discontent.
Moreover, since the male has often been indoctrinated with
the idea that woman's sexual life is not important, he may not
exert himself much to make her interested. He fails to see the
importance of the art of love.
When an important aspect of a person's life becomes under-
valued, this has a negative effect on the self-esteem. What a
woman actually has to offer in sexual responsiveness becomes
undervalued, and this in turn affects her own evaluation of her-
self as a person.
The second way in which our culture has minimized woman's
sexual assets is in the derogation ofher genitals. This in classical
terminology is connected with the idea of penis envy. I wish to
approach the problem differently. As I said earlier, the idea of
penis envy is a male concept. It is the male who experiences the
penis as a valuable organ and he assumes that women also must
feel that way about it. But a woman cannot really imagine the
sexual pleasure of the penis she can only appreciate the social
advantages its possessor has.
5
What a woman needs rather is a
feeling of the importance of her own organs. I believe that much
more important than penis envy in the psychology of woman is

1 do not wish to leave the impression that there is never a woman who
5

thinks she desires to possess the male genital as such, but I believe such
women are found relatively rarely.
416 Clara Thompson

her reaction to the undervaluation of her own organs. I think

we can concede that the acceptance of one's body and all its
functions is a basic need in the establishment of self-respect and
self-esteem.
The short plump brunette girl may feel that she would be more
acceptable if she were a tall thin blond in other words, if she
were somebody else. The solution of her problem lies not in
becoming a blond but in finding out why she is not accepting of
what she is. The history will show either that some significant
person in her early life preferred a tall blond or that being a
brunette has become associated with other unacceptable charac-
teristics. Thus in one case in which this envy of the blond type

was present, being brunette meant being sexy, and being sexy
was frowned upon.
Sex in general has come under the disapproval of two kinds of
thinking in our culture. The puritan ideal is denial of body pleas-
ure, and this makes sexual needs something of which to be
ashamed. Traces of this attitude still remain today in the feelings
of both sexes.
We also have another attitude which derogates sexuality, es-

pecially female sexuality. We

are people with great emphasis on
cleanliness. In many people's minds the genital organs are classed
with the organs of excretion and thus become associated with the
idea of being unclean. With the male some of the curse is re-
moved because he gets rid of the objectionable product. The
female, however, receives it, and when her attitude is strongly
influenced by the dirty excretion concept, this increases her feel-
ing of unacceptability. Moreover, the men who feel the sexual
product is unclean reinforce the woman's feeling that her genitals
are unclean.
The child's unrestrained pleasure in his body and its products
begins to be curbed at an early age. This is such a fundamental
part of our basic training that most of us would have difficulty
imagining the effect on our psychic and emotional life of a more
permissive attitude. What has happened is that this training has
created a kind of moral attitude towards our body products.
Sphincter morality, as Ferenczi has called it, extends to more
than the control of urine and feces. To some extent genital prod-
Effects of Derogatory Attitude Towards Female Sexuality 417

ucts come also under the Idea of sphincter morality. Obviously

this especially has an influence on attitudes towards the female
genitals where no sphincter control is possible. My attention was
first by a paper written in German by Bertram
called to this
Lewin twenty years ago. 6 In this paper he presented, among other
things, clinical data hi which the menses were compared to an
unwanted loss of feces and urine due to lack of sphincter control.
In one case which he reported the woman had become very pro-
ficient at contracting the vaginal muscles so that she attained
some semblance of control of the quantity of menstrual flow.

Although in my own have never encountered a patient

practice I
who actually tried to produce a sphincter, I have frequent evi-
dence that the inability not only to control menstruation but all
secretions of the female genitals has contributed to a feeling of
unaccept ability and dirtiness. One patient on being presented by
her mother with a perineal napkin on the occasion of her first
menses refused to use it. To her it meant a baby's diaper, and she
felt completely humiliated. Obviously she presently felt even

more humiliated because of the inevitable consequences of her

refusal.
Also because of the culture's overevaluation of cleanliness
another attribute of the female genital can be a source of dis-
tress, that is, the fact that it has an odor. Thus one of the chief
means by which the female attracts the male among animals has
been labelled unpleasant, to many even disgusting. For example,
a female patient whose profession requires her appearing before
audiences has been greatly handicapped for many years by a feel-
ing of being "stinking" which is greatly augmented whenever she
is in a position to have her body observed. Thus she can talk

over the radio but not before an audience. Another patient felt
for years that she could never marry because she would not be
able to keep her body clean at every moment in the presence of
her husband. Whenever she had a date with a man she prepared
for it by a very vigorous cleansing of the genitals especially try-
ing to make them dry. When she finally had sexual relations she
was surprised and greatly helped in her estimation of her body
6
B. Lewin, "Kotschmieren, Menses und weibliches iiber-Ich/' Internal.
Zschr. Psychoanal. (1930) 16:43-56.
418 Clara Thompson

by discovering that this highly prized dryness was just the oppo-
site of what was pleasing to the man.

In two cases the feeling of genital unacceptability had been a

factor in promiscuity. In each case an experience with a man who
kissed her genitals in an obviously accepting way was the final
of feeling. In
step in bringing about a complete transformation
both cases all need to be promiscuous disappeared, and each of
the women felt loved for the first time.
I am obviously oversimplifying these cases in order to make
that the
my point clear. I do not wish to leave the impression
feeling of dirtiness connected with the genitals was the sole cause
of a feeling of unacceptability in these patients. There was in
each case a feeling from early childhood of not being acceptable,
specific attitudes in the parents. The feeling
of
produced by
unacceptability became focused on the genitals eventually
for
different reasons in each case. For example, in three cases the
woman had risen above the lowly social position of her parents
and with each of these three women the feeling of having dirty
genitals became symbolic of her lowly origin of
which she was
ashamed. The parents had not placed such an emphasis on baths
as they found to be the case in the new social milieu. Therefore

any evidence of body secretion or odor betrayed them, and this

made sex itself evidence of lower-class origin. On the other hand
two other patients suffered from their own mothers' overem-
phasis on body cleanliness. In each of these two cases the mother
was cold and puritanical as well as overclean, and the patient
felt humiliated because she had a more healthy sexual drive which

she felt was proclaimed to the world by her body's odors and
secretions.
From these observations I hope I have emphasized the fact
that the problem of a woman's sexual life is not in becoming
reconciled to having no penis but in accepting her own sexuality
in its own right. In this she is hampered by certain attitudes in
the culture such as that her sexual drive is not important and her
genitals are not clean. With these two deprecatory cultural atti-
tudes in the background of women's lives it is to be expected that
both are important points at which difficulties in interpersonal
relations may be expressed,
 II

THERAPY
 Goals of Treatment

Psychoanalysis primarily a method of treatment. Since this is

is

so, it oughtbe a simple matter to state its goal, namely the

to

regaining of mental health, both in terms of symptoms and char-

acter structure. However, the goals have not been generally so
stated. For Freud, they were the making conscious of the uncon-
scious, the removal of the infantile amnesia, and the overcoming
of resistances. The difficulty with such a formulation of thera-
peutic goals is that it makes them dependent upon the validity of
the theory and removes them from the human being who is the
patient.
An attempt to formulate the essential goal of treatment in
terms of the patient is made in the paper by Balint. To put it
simply, the goal of therapy is to regain the ability to love others,

a capacity which notably impaired in the mentally ill It has

is

the advantage that it does not depend on the validity of any

particular theory, but on what is generally agreed to be a need
and capacity of mankind. Further, it does not impel the thera-
pist to work in the direction of a goal, such as the removal of
the infantile amnesia, which adequate experience has now shown
does not cause cure, but which may be a by-product of cure.
Since psychoanalysis is a process in which both the therapist
and patient engage, an understanding of their relationship through
its various vicissitudes is part of any formulation of goals. This
process, which Alexander calls the corrective emotional experi-
ence, is one of the analyst's most useful therapeutic devices, and
the technical resources at his command are described in Alex-
ander's paper.
A view of the goals of constructive therapy is given by Rank.
 25

MICHAEL BALINT

The Final Goal of

Psycho-Analytic Treatment*

One can confidently describe psycho-analytic treatment as a

natural process of development in the patient. If, then, I inquire
into the final goal of our therapy, I do not mean by this a pre-
scribed final state, which, deduced from some philosophical,
or even biological premise, requires
religious, moral, sociological,
that everyone should "get well" according to its particular model.
I ask rather: is our clinical experience sufficient to define the

final goal, or at least the final direction of this natural develop-

ment?
There are special cases particularly suitable for this inquiry.
I am thinking of those people who like Freud's famous Wolf-
man break off the analysis with only partial results, and then,
after an interval of years, continue the treatment, possibly with
another analyst. The resumed work offers a very favourable
opportunity for a fresh investigation of the former non-adjusted
obstacles, and a cure in such a case supplies the proof that it
was precisely those obstacles that had previously blocked the
way to recovery. 1

*
Read before the Thirteenth International Psycho-analytical Congress,
Lucerne, 1934. First published in German in Int. Z.f. Psa. (1935), 21, 36-45.
In English: Int. /. of PsA. (1936), 17, 206-16. Reprinted from Primary Love
and Psycho-Analytic Technique by Michael Balint, published by Liveright
Publishing Corp.
1 I
do not believe, in fact, that smoothly running cases, which terminate
without complications, can offer much for our purpose. First of all, in these
423
424 Michael Balint

A case of this kind first set before me the problem of how

our patients become cured and what is really the final goal of
of special
psycho-analytic treatment. As the case offers nothing
interest apart from this, I will mention here only what is of

importance for the formulation of our problem.

The man in
question, who was well on in his forties and whose illness pre-

sented a picture in which phobic and obsessional neurotic features

were originally to the fore, had already undergone some four
years of thorough analysis. When, after
an interval of two further

years, he came to me since he was not able to return to his

former analyst, his neurosis had taken the form of a fairly serious

conversion-hysteria. We worked some further

500 hours together.
The analysis came to an end two years ago, and the result is one
of the best in my practice. Now this was attained without any-
to light from
thing new that is worth mentioning being brought
the unconscious. Everything had already been partly remembered,

partly reconstructed, in the previous analysis,

and during this
second period of work, which was certainly very intensive, and
also successful, no change occurred in the picture, already

familiar to the patient, of his infantile and subsequent course of

In of this and I can assert it without exag-
development. spite
geration the man was cured during this time.

I would remark at once that this is not an exceptional case.

Ever since this case taught me to pay attention to such processes
I have been able regularly to observe that in all cases where the

analysis was deep enough, the final phase turns out similarly. In
the last months fresh material is only rarely made conscious, and
infantile incidents which were not already known or had till then
remained unconscious are hardly ever brought to light. Neverthe-

cases one can never be quite sure whether our therapeutic work did not
merely set going some mechanism which remains hidden from us, and
whether the patients did not recover with the help of this to us unknown
process. Secondly, it often happens that one can only
observe the result and
not the process of recovery. We
can learn far more from an analysis that does
not run smoothly. Firstly, one is, of necessity, bound to reflect more upon it;

in a difficult case one noticesproblem much sooner than in those where

a
results are easily obtained. Secondly, an obstinate, unchanging obstacle, on
which the treatment comes to grief, is more easily perceived than the very
subtle changes which finally bring about recovery.
The Final Goal of Psycho-Andy tic Treatment 425

less, during this time something very important must have hap-
pened to our patients, for before it they were still ill, and during:
it they became well. I know that all this is already familiar; it

was precisely such observations that supplied the material for

the concept of "working through." But that concept, or, more-
on which that concept is based, were-
correctly, the clinical factors
not adequately taken into consideration by the different investiga-
tors when they attempted to describe the goal of psycho-analytic
treatment. For this reason all the descriptions proposed have
fallen short.
One group of these descriptions of the final goal deals only
with the structural changes in the mind; this we may call the
classical group. The other lays stress on the dynamic or the
emotional factor; this could be called the romantic group. All
descriptions of the first group derive from Freud. According to
him the goal of the treatment was the making conscious of the
unconscious, or, the removal of infantile amnesia, or, the over-
coming of the resistances. The three descriptions are almost

synonymous. In my opinion they go too far. As we have seen in

the case described, after a certain point in the treatment no really
new material came to light, nothing worth mentioning could be
added to the picture of the development in early childhood, and
in spite of this the neurosis was cured. On the other hand, it is

generally known that even analysed people still dream, and that
dream analysis encounters resistance with them also. Conse-
quently, even after the end of an analysis, at least so much re--
mains unconscious in the mind as is necessary for dream forma-
tion, and enough resistance unresolved to be able to disturb a.
dream-analysis considerably. Others, also, have surely had the
experience that after a finished analysis, months or even years
later, patients suddenly remember fragments of their infantile

history. Often we had

already been able to reconstruct these in ;

the analysis, so that the suddenly emerging memories are only

a confirmation of the analytic work; sometimes, however, these
which was never even suspected and
pieces bring to light material
never used in the analysis,and though these pieces fit in well
with the known picture they are none the less quite new. These
426 Michael Balint

three descriptions of the final goal of the treatment consist there-

fore of attributes which, to use mathematical terminology, are
neither necessary nor sufficient.
Now let us turn to the second group of descriptions. They
are either paraphrases or more precise restatements of the
all

old description which dates from the time of catharsis. Accord-

ing to this the final goal of our therapeutic efforts is "the abre-
acting of the strangulated affects" This is doubtless correct but
it is stated too generally. We have as yet no means of telling

whether all the strangulated affects have in fact been dealt with,
nor whether those already dealt with suffice for a cure. Since the
theoretical clarifications of the repetition factor, not a few at-
tempts have been made to arrive at some more precise criterion
for judging this point. Ferenczi and Rank describe the goal as
"the complete reproduction of the Oedipus relation in analytic
experience"
2
Since we know how complicated the early infantile
Oedipus relation is, this description, though it doubtless signifies
a notable advance, seems to say too much. Rank claims the final
3 So much
goal to be "the abreacting of the birth trauma" has
already been written on the merits and defects of this theory,
that further criticism is superfluous. V. Kovacs's formulation,
4
"the unwinding of the repetition factor" emphasises, in contrast
to the two previous ones, the dynamics of the curative process,
but is still too generally stated. W. Reich conies to almost the
5
But he gives as the final goal "the attain-
same conclusions as I.

ing of full genitality, of orgastic potency." This is partly correct;

nobody is healthy who lacks the capacity for a regular periodic
orgasm. If I have understood him rightly, however, he seeks to
explain by means of the vague concept of "constitution" the cases
in which, in spite of a deep analysis, orgastic potency cannot be
reached. On the other hand, most of us have seen, and even ob-
served analytically, more than one person who, in spite of perfect
orgastic potency, is decidedly neurotic.
Since the descriptions already proposed do not entirely satisfy
2 der Psychoanalyse, Int. PsA. Verlag,
EntwicIcJungsziele Wien, 1924, p.
54-5.
8
Das Trauma der Geburt, Int. PsA. Verlag, Wien, 1924.
*
"Wiederholungstendenz und Charalcterbildimg, Jut. Z. f. Psa. (1931), 17,
5
CharaJcteranalyse, 1933.
The Final Goal of Psycho- Analytic Treatment 427

us, I shall venture to discuss this question on the basis of the

views which I put forward at Wiesbaden. 6 I have been able regu-
larly to observe that in the final phase of the treatment patients
begin to give expression to long-forgotten, infantile, instinctual
wishes, and to demand their gratification from their environment.
These wishes are, at first, only faintly indicated, and their ap-
pearance often causes resistance, even extreme anxiety. It is
only after many difficulties have been overcome and by very slow
degrees that they are openly admitted, and it is not until even
later that their gratification is experienced as pleasure. I have
called this phenomenon the "New Beginning," and I believe I
have established the fact that it occurs just before the end, in all
sufficiently profound analyses, and that it even constitutes an
essential mechanism of the process of cure.
Let us now turn to some criticisms. First, as I remarked at
Wiesbaden, a single New Beginning is hardly ever enough. On
the other hand, the patient need not make a New Beginning with
all of the early instinctual wishes that were
important for him.
Moreover, after the analysis has ended, instincts may remain
whose gratification brings no pleasure and even causes pain.
At this point a host of technical questions arise. Assuming that
with the New Beginning we have
our hands an important
in
criterion for the termination of the treatment, then one would
like to know how many such recurrent waves of New
Beginning
are necessary and sufficient. Further, for which component in-
stincts is a New Beginning obligatory, for which accidental, and

finally, for which superfluous? I cannot answer any of these

questions, and therefore I propose to examine the New Beginning
more closely; perhaps we shall come to the opinion that these
questions, however important they may appear to us now, do
not arise from the actual facts of the case, and are therefore
unanswerable.
Since all these phenomena appear only in the last phase of
the treatment, and since, unfortunately, not a few analyses have
to be broken off on practical grounds before this phase is
reached, it was naturally some time before I became aware of a

a
"Charakteranalyse und Neubeginn," Int. Z f. Psa. (1934), 20. ("Charac-
ter Analysis and New Beginning.")
428 Michael Balint

significant characteristic of these newly begun pleasurable ac-

tivities. They are, without exception, directed towards objects.
This discovery rather surprised me. According to our generally
accepted theory of today, the first and most primitive phase
of the libido is auto-erotic. I tried to reconcile my findings with
'the theory by arguing that the earlier phases of the development
of the libido (auto-erotism and narcissism) were dealt with in
the middle period of the treatment. Naturally, then, the carrying-
-over of the libido to must remain as a task for
object-relations
the final phase.
But I remained dissatisfied. The activities realised in this New
phantasies, were so childish, so
Beginning period, as well as its

natural, so absolutely unproblematicat,

that I simply could not
chain of develop-
regard them as the final links in a complicated
ment. And, to go farther we have long known that in analytic
treatment it is precisely the most deeply hidden, the most primi-
tive that come to light last. Then came another constantly
layers
repeated observation. As I pointed out at Wiesbaden,
after a

first, and usually very timid, performance

of the activity in

question, a passionate phase habitually follows. The patients are

seized, as were, with an addiction. For days on end they can

it

simply do nothing else but continually repeat these newly begun

pleasurable actions, or, at least make phantasies
about them.
This is a dangerous situation for the continuation of the treat-
ment. The patients were mostly so happy that they were able to
deceive themselves and to begin with, I must admit, myself also.
They feel ultra-healthy, and some made use of this fact, with my
consent, to break off the treatment. This state of passionate hap-
piness, resembling that felt by a drug addict, unfortunately
does
not last. As I learnt from a psychologically perceptive patient
who came back to me, it degenerates into ever more and more
'extensive demands which at last can no longer be satisfied by
any real object. The end is an intensified narcissism with over-
weening pride, self-importapse and outstanding selfishness, veiled
by superficial politeness and insincere modesty. (Perhaps this
provides an explanation for the very similar behaviour of real
addicts.)
If, however, both patient and analyst hold out, this passionate
The Final Goal of Psycho-Analytic Treatment 429

phase passes and in its place a true object-relation, adjusted to

reality,develops before our eyes. Thus, to put it shortly, there is
Orst an unmistakably primitive-infantile object-relation, and this
if not rightly understood and treated ends in unrealisable
demands and a whole
narcissistic state, very disagreeable for the
environment (as is the case with a spoiled child) if rightly guided,
;

however, it gives way to a relation without conflicts for the

subject as well as for those around him. These observations do
not harmonise at all with the usual doctrine of the analytical
libido theory, according to which auto-erotism should be the

primal state of sexuality. A

solution of this discrepancy can only
be offered by a theoretical picture which is able, at the same
time, to explain both the former theory of libidinal development,
founded on innumerable clinical data, as well as these latter ob-
servations. This solution I found not only suggested but already
to a considerable extent built up by Ferenczi.
In his favourite work Thalassa he describes a process which
he calls the development of the erotic sense of reality. He sets
forth three stages whose goal always remains the same, and
which are distinguished only in that they strive to reach this
common goal by different ways, better and better adjusted to
reality.This goal is the return to the mother's womb (according
to Ferenczi the primal aim of all human sexuality) and the three
stages are: passive object-love, the auto-plastic or masturbating
phase and finally the alloplastic phase, or, as I should like to call
it active object-love.
What is important for our problem is that the child, as
Ferenczi has often pointed out, lives in a libidinal object-relation
from the very beginning, and without this libidinal object-rela-
tion simply cannot exist; this relation is, however, passive. The
child does not love but is loved. For a time the fostering outer

world can fulfill itsrequirements; but with advancing age these

become ever greater, more numerous and more difficult of reali-
sation, so that some time or other real frustration is bound to
come. The child replies to this with well-founded hate and aggres-
siveness, and with a turning away from reality, i.e. with an
introversion of his love. If upbringing does not work against
this change of direction, i.e. does not attempt to bind the child
430 Michael Balint

to reality with enough love, there follows the period of auto-erotic

distribution of the libido, the period of various self-gratifications,
of defiant self-sufficiency. In my opinion the "anal-sadistic" and
"phallic phases," i.e. the observed forms of object-relations,
artefacts. They
theoretically comprised under these concepts, are
do not represent stages or even points in the normal development
of psychosexual relations to the outer world; they are not in any
respect normal phenomena, but where they can be observed
are
they point to a considerably disturbed development. They
in the normal psychosexual
signs of a rather sharp deflection
relations to the outer world, occasioned by a consistently unsuit-
able influence on the part of the environment above all, by a
lack of understanding in upbringing.
1 have already given further evidence in support of this seem-
So-
ingly bold assertion before the Budapest Psycho- Analytical
ciety,and I hope to be able to publish them shortly in a separate
paper.
7 Here I will only quote two passages from Freud. He
shows in his Introductory Lectures that many component instincts

of sexuality (such as sadism, for instance) possess an object from

the very beginning. He continues: "Others, more plainly con-
nected with particular erotogenic areas in the body, only have an
object in the beginning, so long as they are still dependent upon
the non-sexual functions and give it up when they become de-
tached from these latter." Oral erotism is here referred to. The
other passage runs: "The oral impulse becomes auto-erotic, as
the anal and other erotogenic impulses are from the beginning.
Further development has, to put it as concisely as possible, two
aims: first, to renounce auto-erotism, to give up again the object
found in the child's own body in exchange again for an external
8
one." (What follows does not relate to our present theme.) Here
it is explicitly declared that the oral instinct, which has hitherto

served in theoretical discussions as the perfect example, as it

were, of auto-erotism, passes through a stage of object-relation-
ship at its very outset. What was new in my Budapest paper
was the attempt to build up a theory which should take into
7
"Critical Notes on the Theory of the Pregenital Organisations of the
Libido," this vol., p. 49.
8
Introductory Lectures on Psycho-analysis, G. Allen and Unwin, London,
Fifth edn., 1936, pp. 276-7. (The italics are mine.)
The Final Goal of Psycho-Analytic Treatment 431

account this fact, which is generally known but has never been
fully appreciated.
According to this theory, all instincts, including those origi-
9
nally described as auto-erotic, are primarily bound to objects.
This primitive object-relation is always passive. This passive
primal aim of human sexuality the desire to be gratified, or,
the desire to be loved is preserved throughout life. Reality,

unavoidable frustration from without, forces man into by-paths,

and he has to be content with these. One by-path is auto-
erotism, narcissism: if the world does not gratify me, does not
love me enough, I must gratify and love myself. The other
by-path is active object-love; this attains the original aim better,
but at a sacrifice. We love and gratify our partner (this is the
sacrifice) so that in the end we may be gratified and loved by
him in return.
is true, then it is easily intelligible that every New
If all this

Beginning has to take place in an object-relation. One cause of

neurosis is always real frustration. Usually the analyst under-
estimates the importance of this cause, because its counterpart
in the aetiological complemental series, the endogenic factor,
is continually pushed into the foreground by the analytic work.

What we work at for months, even years, are the structural

defects of the soul, the torn connections, the psychical material
that was rendered incapable of becoming conscious. But one
thing we should never forget is that all these defects of develop-
ment, which we group under the collective name of "the re-
pressed," were originally forced into that state by external
influences. That is to say, there is no repression without reality,
without an object-relation. It is to the lasting credit of Ferenczi

that, in the years during which interest was centred upon what
was called "ego-psychology" and upon the investigation of mental
structure, he never tired of continually stressing the importance
of external factors.
How necessary this was, and still is, I will show by a single
example, and for this purpose I have chosen from among many
paper on "The Development of the Capacity for
e
I may refer here to a
Love and the Sense by Alice Balint (published in Hungarian at
of Reality,"
Budapest in 1933) in which the author anticipated me in arriving at almost
the same results by a different path.
432 Michael Balint

other works one that can well bear criticism, since its excellent

qualities are very generally recognized. I refer to Melanie Klein's

10
illuminating book.
If we turn to the index of that work we shall look in vain for
the following words: lack of understanding in upbringing,
parental sadism, unkindness, harshness, spoiling, want
of love,
and the like. It is remarkable
a fact that the word "love" is itself

absent. 11 (This word is absent too in the index to Fenichei's

Hysteric und Zwangsneurose.) This corresponds to
another fea-
ture of the book: the prominence which it gives to the structural
factor and the innate constitution. I will give one example.
Everywhere in the book (as well as in her Lucern Congress
paper) Mrs. Klein speaks of the split "good" and "bad" mother

imagos which the child creates in order to have an object always

at hand for his constitutionally intensified sadism. Naturally,

then, he must always be afraid

of the vengeance of these hated
and maltreated "bad" imagos. But could it not perhaps be put
in thisway that in the eyes of the child his parents are capri-
cious beings who, quite unaccountably, are sometimes bad to him
and sometimes good? And the more neurotic the behaviour of
the parents the harder is the task of adjustment for the child,
who, in the end, has no choice but to treat his mother, for in-

stance, two fundamentally different beings. Sometimes the

as

"fairy" is and sometimes the "witch." The fear of venge-

there,
ance would then be revealed as a fear determined by reality,
and the "constitutionally" intense sadism as the effect of lack of
understanding in upbringing. That something in my assumption
is true is shown precisely by the success of child analysis. With

an understanding upbringing on the part of a mother imago who

does not behave neurotically I am thinking of Mrs. Klein the
way to adjustment is opened to the child. I am of the opinion that
it is a pity to stop at the structural defects of the mind; our
path can lead us still farther, namely to errors of upbringing or,
as Ferenczi expressed it in his Wiesbaden paper, to the "con-
fusion of tongues" between the adults and the child.
10
The Psycho-analysis of Children- Int. PsA. Lfbr, London, 1932.
11
Naturally all these subjects are discussed, but the fact that they are absent
from the index is of symptomatic importance. (The remarks in the text apply,
pf course, to the index of the German edition.)
The Final Goal of Psycho- Analytic Treatment 433

Now we can understand also why the question as to the neces-

sary number and origin of the newly begun gratifications turned
out to be unanswerable. The question arose from a way of think-
ing that had become schematic and not fromthe actual facts of
the case. It not particular component instincts that must be
is

begun anew but object-love itself.

With the help of these reflections I believe I have been able to
formulate the final goal of psycho-analytic treatment more ex-
actly. A person becomes ill because, from his childhood, he has
been treated with more or less lack of understanding by those
around him. Gratifications were denied him which were neces-
sary to him, whereas others were forced on him which were
superfluous, unimportant or even harmful. Kis mind, moreover,
had to submit to external force: it had to build up various struc-
tures and, above all, what we call a super-ego, in order to make
him able automatically to avoid conflicts with his reality. He
comes to us; we co-operate in a study of his biological and mental
structure, and try to bring this into connection with his conscious
and primal history. Finally he understands his own nature, and
also the long and painful process through which he was formed
into the man he now knows. Many people who were not too
severely damaged in their object-relation are content with the
reliefwhich comes with consciousness, with the accompanying
better control of their actions and the extended capacity for
pleasure. As the work progresses they
become slowly, almost
imperceptibly healthy. With them the real end phase of the
treatment is absent, or, at most, is merely indicated.
With the others, however, who were made to suffer severely
from the "confusion of tongues," whose capacity for love was
artificiallywholly stunted by lack of understanding in their up-
bringing, quite a peculiar situation finally arises. Everything turns
on one decision. Shall one regard all past suffering as over and
done with, settle accounts with the past for good, and, in the
last resort, try to make the best use of what possibilities there
are in the life still lying ahead? This decision to begin to love
really anew is far from easy. Here the analyst can help consider-
ably. Right interpretations are Important; by them he shows
that
he understands his ward and will not treat him with lack of un-
434 Michael Balim

derstanding as was once the case. The most important thing

here, however, is that one should take notice of the
timid at-
the New
tempts, often only extremely feebly indicated, towards
off. One
Beginning of the object-relation and not frighten them
should never forget that the beginnings of object-libido pursue
the
passive aims and can only be brought to development through
tactful and, in the literal sense of the word, "lovable" behaviour
of the object. And even later one must treat these newly begun
relations indulgently so that they may find their way to reality and
active love.
for a
Unfortunately not everyone can achieve this decision
New Beginning of love. There are people who cannot give up
demanding ever fresh compensation from the whole world for
all the wrong ever done them, who know, indeed, that such
behaviour is obsessive, and at the present time quite unreal

simply a transference but, nevertheless, cannot give it up, who

want only to be loved and are not able to give love. On a few
occasions, though not often, I have come to this point with pa-
tients, and have not been able to bring
them farther. These iso-
lated cases,which incidentally, showed considerable improvement,
but which was not able to cure, forced me to recognise the
1

limits of my therapeutic powers. With my present technique I

can only cure such people as, in the course of the analytic work,
can acquire the ability to attempt to begin to love anew. How
those few others are to be helped I do not at present see. But I
do not believe that we need let ourselves be defeated by the con-
stitutional factors. Ferenczi always used to say that as long as a
patient is willing to continue
the treatment, a way must be found
to help him. Those who knew his way of working know that with
him this was no empty phrase. He made many experiments, and
he also succeeded in helping many who had already been given
up by others as hopeless. Unfortunately not all. The old proverb
has proved true again: ars longa, vita brevis. It is the duty of the
pupils to carry on the work which
the master began.
I am at the end of my paper. I believe I have shown that it
was one-sided to base our theories and our way of thinking prin-
cipally on structural considerations and on the instinctual consti-
tution. Without wishing to detract from the great achievement
The Final Goal of Psycho- Analytic Treatment 435

of the researches made in this direction, I have endeavoured to

point out that the study of loving object-relations, which has been
gravely neglected in recent years, can contribute much towards
the understanding of the human mind and towards the improve-
ment of our therapeutic powers. In my opinion there is today too
much talk about constitutionally determined sadism and maso-
chism in analytical theory. Thus the motto of my paper would
#un: less sadism and more love.
 26

FRANZ ALEXANDER
Factors
Analysis of the Therapeutic
in Psychoanalytic Treatment*

Observations made during the therapeutic procedure are the

primary source of psychoanalytic knowledge. Most of our knowl-
Precise under-
edge of psychodynamics stems from this source.
is significant hoth for im-
standing of the therapeutic factors
and also for increasing our
proving our therapeutic techniques
theoretical knowledge. Between theory and therapy there is a
reciprocal relationship: observations made during
treatment are
the main source of our theoretical knowledge, and we apply our
theoretical formulations to improve our technique.
This presentation is based on the premise that much in our
therapeutic procedure is still empirical, and that many of the
processes which take place in patients during psychoanalysis
are
not yet fully understood.
In particular, there is divergence of opinion concerning 1, the
relative therapeutic value of the patient's intellectual insight into
the origin and nature of his neurosis; 2, the relative value of
emotional discharge (abreaction) 3, the role of emotional experi-
;

ences during treatment as they evolve in the transference; 4, the

role of parallel experiences in life; 5, the significance of the time
factor (frequency of interviews, technical interruptions, length
of the treatment) . The last question is practical and the answer

*
Reprinted by permission from the Psychoanalytic Quarterly, Vol. 19, pp.
482-500, 1950. Copyright 1950 by The Psychoanalytic Quarterly, Inc.
436
Therapeutic Factors in Psychoanalytic Treatment 437

to it depends both on clinical experience and on the clarification

of the first four.
One of the basic observations on which Freud's theoretical
structure was built was the therapeutic value of emotional abre-
action in hypnosis. Emotionally charged, forgotten memories
appeared with dramatic expression of the repressed emotions.
Substituting barbiturates for hypnosis, this principle was widely
applied to war neuroses during and after the recent war.
The second step was the recognition that abreaction alone has
no permanent curative value; that the ego must face and learn
to handle the repressed emotions. The emphasis was on insight.
There followed then the period in which Freud's therapeutic
interest was focused on reconstructing the traumatic events of the

past and making the patient understand and remember them.

Reconstructions and interpretations of past pertinent events had
to be understood and accepted by the patients in order to be
cured.
The third step was the discovery of the transference which
shifted the emphasis again to emotional experience and expres-
sion. This of course, an oversimplification. Actually, abreac-
is,

tion, insight and transference have long been considered in their

interrelationships, and only the emphasis has changed from time
to time with different authors. One element, however, was com-
mon upon the necessity of mak-
to all these views: the insistence

ing repressed material conscious. In hypnosis, repressed material

was mobilized by reducing the ego's defenses. During the period
in which free association was used, but before the importance of
the transference was clearly recognized, the therapist's intellectual
understanding was imparted to the patient in the hope that this
intellectual insight would enable the patient to face what he

repressed. The recognition of the transference led to a better

understanding of the therapeutic processes as well as a more
effective therapy. In the transference, the original pathogenic
conflicts of the early family relationships are repeated with lesser

intensity. This is what is called the "transference neurosis." The

emotional re-enactment in relation to the therapist of the crucial
conflicts gradually increases the ego's capacity to face these con-
438 Franz Alexander

One may to the

flicts. say, it increases the ego's permeability
repressed material. Freud's formulation was that in the transfer-
ence the stronger adult ego faces the same but less intensive
conflicts which the weaker infantile ego had to repress. This
of
dynamic equation represents the essence of our present views
therapy: in childhood the weak ego faces overwhelming
emo-
tions; in the transference the adult's stronger ego
faces a weaker
edition of the original conflict. Accordingly, the treatment ulti-
mately aims at changing the ego to enable it to resolve conflicts
with which it could not cope before. The method by which this
change in the ego is achieved is a kind of gradual learning through
practice by exposing the ego, step by step, to conflicts as they
emerge in the course of treatment. At the same time the defenses
of the ego against repressed material are reduced by making them
explicit by precise verbalization.
This process commonly termed
"working through" can be described as a kind of emotional
gymnastics.
The course of most successful treatments can be visualized as
a gradually increasing capacity of the patient to recognize and
express repressed psychological content.
The simplest example
is the depressive patient who gradually becomes able to recog-

nize and express his hostility directed toward an ambivalently

loved person. This increased ability to express repressed mate-
rial is achieved primarily by the analyst's recognizing and ver-

balizing the slightest manifestations of the patient's repressed

emotions and of his defenses against these emotions. An inter-
pretation of hostility expressed against the analyst,
which is
given objectively and without any resentment, encourages
its

freer expression by the patient. By helping the patient to verbalize

without judging and evaluating what the patient could not ex-
press, the analyst encourages the patient's becoming
conscious
of repressed content. The original repression of hostility was
a response to parental influences. The analyst assumes a role
differentfrom that of the parents. He is emotionally not in-
volved. This difference makes possible what we have called the
corrective emotional experience [1].
According to this view, the intensity of the transference should
have a certain optimal level. This is supported by the common
Therapeutic Factors in Psychoanalytic Treatment 43$

observation that if the emotional involvement of the patient is

insufficient, the treatment may be greatly retarded and the anal-
ysis becomes merely an intellectual exercise. If, however, the
transference neurosis becomes too intense, the patient's ego may
face a situation similar to the one which it could not meet
is well known and well demonstrated by Kdhler's
originally. It
and French's contributions that the ego's integrative functions
are impeded by excessive emotion [2, 3], Violent anxiety, rage,
or guilt may become so formidable that the ego's coordinating
functions cannot master them. From this it must be evident that
one of the aims of therapy is to keep the transference on an
optimal level.
A common type of unsuccessful analysis is due to the devel-
opment of a too intensive dependent transference from which
the patient cannot be dislodged. The analyst's hope that further
working through eventually will resolve this dependent attach-
ment, as well as the patient's own procrastinating tendency,
collaborate to produce this therapeutic impasse. The neurotic
is inclined to side-step renewed attempts to cope with life, re-

treats into fantasy, produces symptoms. During the treatment he

exchanges symptoms for a neurotic transference relationship but

resists abandoning this newly acquired substitute for his neurosis
for new attempts in life. Thus the situation develops to which
Freud tersely referred by saying that the patient's wish to be
cured gradually changes into his wish to be treated [4]. Since
with certain types of chronic neurotics this development is a
common one, the problem how to avoid this danger is obviously
one of the important problems of psychoanalytic technique.
The question how to keep the analysis on a transference level
of optimal intensity, particularly how to avoid a too intensive

dependent relationship resulting in an interminable analysis,

leads us to the quantitative aspects of the psychoanalytic treat-
ment. These we shall discuss in the light of the previous formu-
lation of the therapeutic process and of the corrective emotional
experience.
We start from Freud's emphasis on the fact that in the trans-
ference the patient's adult ego isgiven opportunity to face those
emotional situations which it could not manage in childhood
440 Franz Alexander

when the ego was weaker. The weak ego had to repress these
emotions which therefore remained excluded from the ego's in-
tegrativeactivity. The emphasis is on the difference
between the
integrative powers of the adult and the immature ego.
The other
of the
important fact, according to Freud, is that the repetition
old conflict in the transference is of lesser intensity. Its intensity
is reduced because the transference emotions are reactions
to

not actual
previous experiences and to the patient-physician
relation. The only actual relationship between the patient and
doctor is that the patient comes to the physician for help. It is
only in the patient's rnind that the therapist
assumes the role
of the father or mother or of an older or younger sibling. The
most important consideration in this connection is that neurotic
are adaptive reactions
patterns do not develop in a vacuum; they
to parental attitudes. In the transference the original interpersonal

relationship between child and parent is re-established only so

far as the patient is concerned. The crucial therapeutic factor
is that the analyst's reactions are different from those of the
of self-assertive
parents. The simplest example is the repression
and aggressive attitudes due to parental intimidation which en-
courages dependence and causes all kinds of inhibitions in human
relations. In the transference the therapist's attitude must reverse
that of the intimidating parent. The fact that the patient's ag-

gressions are met objectively without emotional response or

retaliation on the part of the analyst corrects the original in-
timidating influence of the parent. The parental intimidation is
undone by the more tolerant and sympathetic attitude of the
therapist who replaces the authoritarian parent
in the patient's

mind. As the patient realizes that his modest self-assertion will

not be punished, he will experiment more boldly and express
himself more freely toward persons in authority in his daily life.
This increases the ego's capacity to deal with aggressive attitudes
which anxiety had previously repressed. This is actually a much
more complicated process but this simple example may serve

to explain the principle of corrective emotional experience.

Parental intimidation, however, is not the only form of patho-
genic experience. Parental overindulgence, emotional rejection,
and ambivalence are of equal importance.
Therapeutic Factors in Psychoanalytic Treatment 441

As soon we
clearly recognize the specific problem of the
as
patient, it to work consistently toward the
becomes possible
right kind of corrective experience. It is generally assumed that
the objective and understanding attitude of the therapist alone
is sufficient to produce such a corrective emotional experience.
No doubt, the most important therapeutic factor in psycho-
analysis is the objective and yet helpful attitude of the therapist,

something which does not exist in any other relationship. Parents,

friends, relatives, may be helpful but they are always emotionally
involved. Their attitude may be sympathetic but never objective
and never primarily understanding. To experience such a novel
human relationship in itself has a tremendous therapeutic signifi-
cance which cannot be overrated. The old reaction patterns do
not fit into this new human relationship. This explains why the
patient's behavior in the transference becomes a one-sided
shadowboxing. The old patterns developed as reactions to
parental attitudes and lose their sense in the transference re-
lationship. This compels the patient gradually to change and
to revise his neurotic patterns. He deals with someone who
neither resents his aggressions nor feels guilty like a parent who
overindulges the child because of his unconscious rejection of
the child. Under the influence of his unimpaired critical judg-
ment, which we assume in a non-psychotic individual, the patient
will be gradually forced to learn new emotional patterns which
fitinto this new experience. The old reactions fitted and had
sense only in the family. No doubt, therefore, the objective,
understanding attitude of the analyst in itself is a most power-
ful therapeutic factor. This attitude, combined with correct

interpretation of material which is about to emerge from re-

pression, together with the analysis of the ego's defenses, is
primarily responsible for the therapeutic effectiveness of psycho-
analysis. This effectiveness, in comparison with all other methods
in psychiatry, is so impressive that it is easy to be satisfied with
all this and forget about those aspects of therapy which require
further improvement. What I mean primarily is the question,
how economic is this procedure? In other words, can its effective-
ness still be increased and the length of treatment reduced?
My experience is that the objective and helpful attitude of
442 Franz Alexander

the analyst allows, without any artificial play acting, ample

in
opportunity for modifying the patient-therapist relationship
such a way that it will facilitate and intensify the corrective
emotional experience. I have described the treatment of a forty-
two-year-old patient suffering from hysterical convulsions,
im-
potence and a severe character neurosis which was about to
break up his marriage [1]. The essential factor in this case was
an overbearing, tyrannical father who succeeded completely in
undermining this patient's self-confidence and normal self-asser-

tion. The
patient had, as a defense, developed
an overbearing
attitude in his home and treated his family, particularly his
son, as he was treated by his own father. The treatment con-
sisted of twenty-six interviews over a ten-week period with
satisfactory results. Not only have
all his symptoms disappeared

including the convulsions and his impotence, but his attitude

toward his son and wife has changed. The wife, who had decided
to divorce him, reversed her decision. This patient's case has
been followed up. After four years he is still married, his symp-
toms have not returned and there are only occasional relapses into
irritability and impatience
toward his son, an attitude which
he is able to control. I do not quote this case because of the
of the small number of
therapeutic result, unusual because
interviews, I quote it because it is a simple example of corrective
emotional experience. This was achieved by creating an emo-
tional atmosphere in the transference which was particularly
suited to reverse the original intimidating influence of the

patient's father. My was not simply objective and

attitude

helpful; it was consistently

tolerant and definitely encourag-

ing, exactly the opposite

of his father's attitude. While the father
was overbearing and omniscient, the analyst emphasized re-
peatedly the limitations of psychiatry
and of his own knowledge,
encouraging the patient to express his disagreement with inter-
pretations. The father had
been extremely critical of the patient;
the analyst openly displayed admiration of certain of the patient's
qualities. This was of
course all within the limits of the usual
gave a definite emotional coloring
attitude of the analyst, but I
to the transference, which might be
criticized as not psycho-

analytic but psychotherapeutic because of its openly encourag-

Therapeutic Factors in Psychoanalytic Treatment 443

ing connotation. This entirelynew situation which he had never

encountered was most embarrassing for the patient. He did not
know how to react to it. At first he tried in his dreams to make
the analyst a replica of his domineering father. In one, the
analyst smashed glassware the patient had manufactured which
reminded him of the time his father, a glass manufacturer, in
violent rage had smashed glassware because he had not liked
the design. After these distortions had been interpreted, the
patient desperately tried to provoke the analyst to act as his
father did. When all this failed he gradually began to change his
own behavior.
In another case, the corrective emotional experience was pro-
voked by a different departure from the conventional psycho-

analytic attitude on the therapist's part. The patient was a young

university student who was unable to apply himself to his studies.
He idled about, spent a great part of the day in bed, masturbated
excessively, read cheap detective stories and was unable to form
any meaningful social relations. He had no attachments to
women, frequented poolrooms and felt quite miserable about his
way of living. His "laziness" was
purposeless the symptom of a
latent compulsion neurosis. During his first consultation he justi-
fied his idleness by stating that his father never loved him and
never gave him anything of value; therefore, his father should
support him. In his first analytic session he reported a dream.

I wanted to sell my diamond ring but the jeweler after testing

the stone declared it was false.

He immediately remarked that the dream was silly because

he knew that his ring was genuine. In the course of further as-
sociations it transpired that the ring was a present from his father.
The dream expressed transparently the patient's defensive for-
mula that he had never received anything of value from his
father; hence, the motive for proving in his dream that his
father's gift was spurious. His whole neurotic structure was
founded on the belief that he owed nothing to his father.
External circumstances forced him to move from the city
and he was transferred to another analyst who died after a
short period. He continued with another analyst, and a few
444 Franz Alexander

months later he asked me for an interview. He complained that

as his analyst disliked him continuation of the treatment was
but he
impossible. The analyst was always polite and kindly,
felt that this was all calculated play acting. In reality, he said,

the therapist hated him. I talked with his analyst who, to my

surprise, substantiated the patient's story:
he felt a strong aversion
to the patient which he tried his best to conceal. He
urged me
and I agreed to continue the treatment. I soon understood my
to make him-
predecessor's prejudice. The patient did everything
self disagreeable. He usually arrived unwashed, unshaven and

unkempt, bit his nails, spoke in a scarcely intelligible mumble,

criticized everything, and paid a very low fee. If I kept him

waiting a minute he immediately accused

me of doing so because
he paid less than others. He was so unpleasant in every possible
way that it was difficult to tolerate him. One day I spoke to him
somewhat impatiently. He jumped up from the couch and ex-
claimed, "You are just like your colleague. Do you deny that

dislike me and do you call it analysis being impatient with

you
your patient?" I realized that I had better admit my dislike of
him. He was extremely perturbed by this admission. I explained
that his behavior was unconsciously calculated and succeeded
in making him disliked. He wanted to prove that just as his
father supposedly disliked him, the analyst also rejected him;
this allowed him to feel hostile and continue his old neurotic

pattern of life. I reminded him of the dream about the diamond

ring. This session became a dramatic turning point
of this analy-
sis, which before had begun to appear a stalemate. He became
well groomed, and tried to be as pleasant as possible. He started
to apply himself to his studies and to organize his daily activities.
In this case the corrective emotional experience was, in a sense,
opposite to the one previously described. This patient had an
indulgent father to whom his son was the apple of his eye. He
supported him freely without reproach, although during his
schooling he did not apply himself to his studies. This paternal
indulgence created intolerable feelings of guilt in the boy who,
as a defense, tried to persuade himself that his father really dis-
liked him.
In the dramatic interview in which he discovered my dislike
 Therapeutic Factors in Psychoanalytic Treatment 445

for him, it suddenly became clear to him that the situation with
his father could not be repeated; that it was a unique relation-

ship, and that no one but his indulgent father would love him
despite all his provocations. He realized that to be loved he
must make himself worthy of love; furthermore, the guilt feel-
ings resulting from his father's goodness diminished with the
analyst's open admission of his dislike. At the end of Ms analy-
sis this patient was very
appreciative, presenting the analyst
with a photograph of his new self. Years later he called on me.
He had become successful and was married happily. Every ex-
perienced analyst has had similar experiences. The case is note-
worthy because of the dynamics of the patient's remarkable im-
provement which was induced not by the usual understanding
objective attitude of the analyst but by an involuntary display of
his irritation.
The analyst's reaction was not calculated to be different from
that of the patient's father. He simply lost, for a moment, the

type of control which we consider so important in psychoanalytic

therapy. I do not want to imply that in general this control is not
necessary. My
point is that the knowledge of the early interper-
sonal attitudes which contributed to a patient's neurosis can help
the analyst to assume intentionally a kind of attitude which is
conducive to provoking the kind of emotional experience in the
patient which is suited to undo the pathogenic effect of the
original parental attitude. Such intensive revelatory emotional
experiences give us the clue for those puzzling therapeutic results
which are obtained in a considerably shorter time than is usual in

psychoanalysis. The important question facing us is whether it

is possible in cases to manage the transference kt a way to
many
precipitate such intensive revelatory experiences. At present it
is difficult to generalize about how such intensive revelatory

experiences can be provoked. One thing is obvious: the corrective

emotional experience is possible only after the intrapsychic con-
flict has been reconverted into an interpersonal relationship in the

transference and the introjected parental influences are projected*

upon the analyst; in other words, when the original neurosis has
been transformed into a transference neurosis. This aim is most
difficult to achieve in severe compulsion neurotics in whom the
446 Franz Alexander

original child-parent relationship is completely incorporated in

the personality in a complex intrapsychic conflict between the
different structural parts of the personality. This keeps the in-

tensity of the transference on a relatively low level and the whole

therapeutic procedure tends to become over-intellectualized. In
such cases, patient, prolonged preliminary work is often required
before the intrapsychic neurotic system is disrupted and trans-
formed into a neurotic interpersonal relationship.
This whole problem is closely related to the countertransfer-
ence. The made
here is that the analyst should attempt
proposition
to replace his spontaneous countertransference reactions with
attitudes which are consciously planned and adopted according
to the dynamic exigencies of the therapeutic situation. This
requires the analyst's awareness of his spontaneous countertrans-
ference reactions, his ability to control them and substitute for
them responses which are conducive to correcting the pathogenic
emotional influences in the patient's past. Occasionally, as in the
case of the student, the spontaneous countertransference reaction
of the analyst is accidentally the desirable attitude, but this is a
rare exception. As a rule spontaneous countertransference reac-
tions of the analyst resemble parental attitudes. The analyst, like
the parents, is apt to react with positive feelings to the patient's

flattery, with helpful attitude and sympathy to the patient's suffer-

ing, and with resentment to the patient's provocative behavior as
the parents did. Even if he does not give overt expression to his
countertransference, the patient may sense it. Since the phenome-
non of countertransference has been recognized, we know that a
completely objective attitude of the analyst exists only in theory
no matter how painstakingly he may try to live up to this require-
ment. The main point however, that within the framework of
is,

the objective atmosphere of the psychoanalytic situation, there is

sufficient opportunity for replacing the spontaneous countertrans-
ference reactions with well-defined and designed attitudes which
facilitate the patient's own emotional reorientation. In this con-
nection, itshould be considered that the objective, detached atti-
tude of the psychoanalyst itself is an adopted, studied attitude
and is not a spontaneous reaction to the patient. It is not more
difficult for the analyst to create a definite emotional climate,
Therapeutic Factors in Psychoanalytic Treatment 447

such as consistent permissiveness or a stronghand, as the patient's

dynamic situation requires.
Having presented the corrective emotional experience as the
dynamic axis of the treatment, let us turn to the other well-
established therapeutic factors and first examine the therapeutic
importance of recovered memories.
After Freud abandoned hypnosis, his main interest lay in recon-
structing the early emotional development by resolving the "in-
fantile amnesia." When he substituted free association for hypno-

sis, he tried to induce the patient to recall repressed traumatic

memories. At this time all his interest was focused upon tracing
the genesis of neurosis and of personality development in general.
He had first to understand the natural history of neuroses in order
to develop a sensible method of treatment. It was a lucky circum-
stance that this etiological study of the individual's past history
coincided, partially at least, with therapeutic aims. Both required
recovery of forgotten memories and this became for a time the
main therapeutic device. He came only gradually to realize the

therapeutic significance of transference and the importance of

the patient's reliving, not merely recalling, his early conflicts. His
impression, however, was so strong that the belief in the
first

primary therapeutic significance of genetic reconstruction was

1
perpetuated.
We know now that the recovery of memories is a sign of im-
provement rather than its cause. As the ego's capacity to cope

with repressed emotions increases through experience in the trans-

ference, the patient is able to remember repressed events because
of their similar emotional connotations. The ability to remember
shows the ego's increased capacity to face certain types of psycho-
logical content. This change in the ego is achieved through the
emotional experiences of the treatment, although it cannot be
denied that remembering and understanding the origin of neurotic
patterns have a therapeutic influence and help the reintegration
of repressed psychological content into the total personality.
The therapeutic evaluation of intellectual insight is probably
one of the most difficult problems of the theory of treatment.
1
The importance of genetic understanding in relation to emotional experi-
ence is discussed further on.
448 Franz Alexander

We used to distinguish three therapeutic factors: abreaction,

insight, and working through. Abreaction
means the free expres-
sion of repressed emotions. Insight was considered to be effective
only when coincided with emotional abreaction. As Freud ex-
it

pressed it, "An enemy cannotbe licked who is not seen." The pa-
tient must feel what he understands, otherwise he could be cured

by a textbook. Working through refers to the repetitive,

more
and more precise verbalization of all the details of the emotional
as the
patterns, including abreaction and insight, during analysis
reduced. It consists of
ego's defensive measures are gradually
of the neurosis as it
experiencing and understanding each aspect
is revealed under treatment and as the patient's resistance to self-

expression diminishes.
In evaluating the mutual relation of these three factors in
often quite definite
?herapy, it is important to realize that
changes in the emotional pattern can be observed in patients

without intellectual formulation by the analyst or patient. The

corrective emotional experience in the transference alone may
produce lasting therapeutic results. A purely intellectual under-
effect. On
standing of the neurosis has seldom much therapeutic
the other hand, intellectual insight based on and combined with
emotional experiences stabilizes emotional gains and paves the
way for new emotional experiences. The ego's basic function is

mastery of impulses through integration. This is the essence of

the function we call understanding. Understanding gives the
patient a feeling of mastery,
and this in turn encourages mobiliza-
tion of repressed material which before could not be mastered by
integration with the rest of the conscious personality. Through
insight the ego is prepared to face emerging unconscious material
and is not taken by surprise when it actually appears in con-
sciousness. This explains the common observation that the same
interpretation which was given repeatedly during treatment and
which seemingly has left the patient completely unimpressed, one
day provokes a revelatory emotional response. This happens when
the previous, merely intellectual understanding of repressed ma-
terial becomes combined with emotional experiences of the same
material as it emerges from repression. The previous interpreta-
tions were, however, not without effect: they paved the way for
Therapeutic Factors in Psychoanalytic Treatment 449
the emotional experience. Intellectualization by interpretation of
content, however, in certain cases must be avoided as much as
possible. The substitution of understanding for feeling is one of
the principal defenses of the compulsive personality. In such cases
the corrective emotional experiences must be achieved without
too much intellectual preparation. The patient must experience
his basic ambivalence toward the analyst which can be facilitated
if own spontaneous emotional reactions, which the
the analyst's
patient's ambivalence has provoked, are kept under control and
are replaced by a well-planned attitude.
It is universally accepted that the central
therapeutic issue
consists in the mobilization of unconscious material. Only if
the ego is actually confronted with those impulses which it could
not handle before except by repression, can the patient learn to
handle such impulses. The defenses of the ego originally de-
veloped under the influence of personal relationships: parental
intimidation, overindulgence, guilt, ambivalence, rejection, and
unconscious seduction are the most common etiological factors.
Intellectual insight into the nature of the ego defenses alone is not
sufficient to abolish their influence. The emotional content of the
patient-physician relationship, the fact that the therapist's attitude
is different from the original parental attitudes, is the major dy-

namic factor which allows repressed material to become con-

scious.
In the light of this discussion, certain quantitative factors in
therapy those therapeutic measures by which an optimal level
of the transference neurosis may be achieved can be evaluated.
Experience shows that the transference neurosis develops spon-
taneously as the result of continued contact with the therapist.
The outlook for a prolonged treatment favors the patient's pro-
crastination and disinclination to face the problems from which
he escaped into neurosis. The transference neurosis soon loses
many of the unpleasant features of the original neurosis because
it is seen to be a necessary part of the treatment, and the con-

flicts provoked by the regressive tendencies are reduced by the

analyst's attitude. This allows the patient to be neurotic during

treatment without too much conflict. Reducing the frequency of
interviews is one of the simplest means of preventing the trans-
450 Pranz Alexander

ference from becoming too powerful an outlet for the patient's

neurosis: by frustration, the dependent strivings become con-
sciousand the patient is compelled to resist them consciously.
Whenever the patient's ego shows need for emotional
signs of
support, increasing the frequency of interviews may be indicated.
In doing so, however, one must be aware that allowing the pa-
tient a greater dependent gratification is a tactical concession
which the therapist has to make at the moment, but which will
increase some time later the task of weaning. It is unwise to
are required to estimate
generalize, and experience and skill
when and how to reduce or increase the frequency of the sessions.
In many cases it is advisable to see the patient once, twice or
three times a week, instead of daily, to prevent too much depend-
ence.
Reducing the frequency of the interviews is probably the most
effective application of the principle of abstinence. It prevents
the unnoticed, hidden gratification of dependent needs thus forc-
ing them to become conscious. This principle was most con-
sistently developed by Ferenczi,
who
pointed out that denying
the just
patient that satisfaction which he most intensively de-
sires has proven most useful in producing pertinent unconscious
material According to this principle, the patient's dependence
[5].

upon the analystbecomes conscious through curtailing its grati-

fication. Were a person fed every half hour, he would never be-
come conscious of feeling hunger. The patient's dependence upon
the analyst, gratified by the routine of daily interviews on which
the patient can count indefinitely, may never become conscious
with sufficient vividness if the sessions are not reduced in some
phase of the analysis. Everyone knows the stimulating influence
of an unplanned cancellation of an interview upon the production
of unconscious material. Vacations which are undertaken in the
therapist's and not in the patient's interest may also have such
an eifect. My point is that we should not leave this important
therapeutic tool to chance but use it systematically whenever the
patient's analytic situation requires.
Longer interruptions have a somewhat different therapeutic
function. In the early twenties Eitingon made experiments with
interrupted analyses in the outpatient clinic of the Berlin Psycho-
Therapeutic Factors in Psychoanalytic Treatment 451

analytic Institute. Since then this device has been systematically

tested in the Chicago Institute for Psychoanalysis [6],

Interruptions of shorter or longer duration have the function

of increasing the patient's self-confidence. During the interrup-
tionshe will have to apply independently in life what he gained
during the treatment. The tendency of the neurotic is to avoid
renewed attempts to cope with the life situation from which
he retreated into fantasy and symptom formation. Interruptions
counteract the patient's tendency to postpone indefinitely the so-
lution of his problems. They are one of the strongest weapons
against perpetuating the transference neurosis indefinitely. Inter-
ruptions must be imposed tentatively, since there is no way of
telling exactly when the patient is ready to accept them without
relapsing.
One must remember that the patient, while he is being ana-
lyzed, continues his ordinary life. It is true that many of his
neurotic needs will be gratified in the transference. This as a rule
allows the patient to behave less neurotically outside. On the other
hand, the therapist must not allow the patient to withdraw his
attention from his outside relationships and to escape completely
into the therapeutic situation. Originally the patient came to the

therapist with current problems. The transference allowed him

to relieve the pressure of these current problems by retreating
from life into the shadow world of the transference. There must

be a constant pressure to keep the patient in contact with his

actual problems in life from which he only too readily has with-
drawn is not realistic to expect that a
into the transference. It

patient, whohas postponed the solution of his real problems for

months or years and withdrawn into the relatively isolated world
of transference, will one day suddenly return a well-adjusted per-
son to the world of reality. While the patient works through his
resistances and becomes able to express more and more frankly
in the transference his neurotic attitudes, he learns gradually to
modify them at first in relation to the analyst and later also in
his extra-analytic human The latter takes place to
relationships.
some degree automatically but the neurotic tendency is to delay
the attack upon his actual problems. A
steady pressure must be
exerted upon the patient to apply every analytical gain to his life
$52 Franz Alexander

outside the analysis. The analytic process cannot be divided into

two separate phases: one which encourages the development
first,

of the transference neurosis and, second, one in which the patient

is induced to return with modified attitudes to the solution of

his actual problems. The two must take place more or less simul-

taneously.
Another significance of extratherapeutic experiences was first

explicitly emphasized by Edoardo Weiss [7]. The transference

cannot always repeat all the neurotic patterns of a patient. Some

aspects of his neurosis he will of necessity re-enact in his life;

moreover, it is often advantageous to relieve too intensive positive
or negative emotional attitudes within the transference by taking
advantage of corresponding extra-analytic interpersonal relation-
ships. In the Chicago Institute for Psychoanalysis, some of the
members of the staff believe that in some cases most of the pa-

tient'sproblems can be worked out by the analysis of the extra-

therapeutic experiences, and that a real transference neurosis can
be avoided. I personally lean toward the view that a well-defined
transference neurosis is not only unavoidable but desirable in
most cases.

Summary
The need for re-evaluation of the psychodynamic factors op-
erative during treatment is emphasized. According to the view

presented, the dynamic axis of psychoanalytic therapy is the cor-

rective emotional experience which the patient obtains in the
transference. The is not only that the patient re-
significant factor
lives his original conflicts in his relationship with the analyst, but
that the analyst does not react as the parents did. His reactions
should correct the pathogenic effects of the parental attitudes. The
objective, understanding attitude of the analyst in itself is so dif-
ferent from that of the parents that this alone necessitates a
change in the patient's original attitudes. If the analyst succeeds in
reconstructing precisely the original pathogenic parental attitude,
he may facilitate the occurrence of intensive corrective emotional
experiences by assuming an attitude toward the patient opposite
to that of themost relevant pathogenic attitude which prevailed
Therapeutic Factors in Psychoanalytic Treatment 453

in the past. This does not consist in artificial play acting but in

creating an emotional atmosphere which is conducive to undoing

the traumatic effects of early family influences. The corrective
emotional experience is the most powerful factor in making the
patient's original ego defenses unnecessary and thus allowing
the mobilization and emergence into consciousness of repressed
material. It helps the patient's ego to assume a modified attitude
toward hitherto repressed or inhibited impulses. Other important
technical measures serve to keep the transference on an optimal
level, such as changing the frequency of interviews according to
the state of the analysis, correctly timed interruptions, and en-
couraging the required kind of extratherapeutic experiences.
Our experience in the Chicago Institute for Psychoanalysis is

that with the consistent observance of these principles and techni-

cal measures the treatment becomes more effective and economi-
cal [8],Although the total duration of the treatment as a rule is
not spectacularly shortened, the actual number of interviews can
be substantially reduced in the great majority of cases. The prin-
ciple which is stressed is that of flexibility in preference to rou-
tine. Briefness, in so far as the total duration of the
treatment is
concerned, does not characterize this approach.
Naturally the personality of the analyst and his sex are of
great importance for creating the kind of emotional atmosphere
and experiences in the transference which are most conducive
to reversing the adverse influences in the patient's past. The selec-
tion of an analyst for each patient is an involved problem and
requires special consideration.
Reasons are submitted for the urgent need for a careful re-
examination of the therapeutic process.

References

[1] ALEXANDER, FRANZJ FRENCH, THOMAS M., ET AL.! The Principle O,f
Corrective Emotional Experience. In: Psychoanalytic Therapy, Principle*
and Application. New York: The Ronald Press Co., 1946, p. 66.

[2] FRENCH, THOMAS M.: A Clinical Study of Learning in the Course of a

Psychoanalytic Treatment. Psychoanalytic Quarterly, V, 1936, pp. 148-
194.
454 Franz Alexander

[3] KOHLER, WOLFGANG: The Mentality of Apes. London: Kegan Paul,

Trench, Trubner & Co., 1931.

[4] FREUD: Further Recommendations in the Technique of Psychoanalysis.

Coll. Papers, II, pp. 342-391.

[5] FERENCZI, SANDOR: The Further Development of an Active Therapy in

Psychoanalysis. In: Further Contributions to the Theory and Technique
of Psychoanalysis. London: Hogarth Press, 1926, pp. 201, 202.

[6] ALEXANDER, FRANZ; FRENCH, THOMAS M., ET AL. The Principle of

:

Flexibility. Interruptions and Termination of Treatment Op. cit., p. 35.

[7] WEISS, EDOARDO: Emotional Memories and Acting Out. Psychoanalytic

Quarterly, XI, 1942, pp. 477-492.

[8] ALEXANDER, FRANZ; FRENCH, THOMAS M., ET AL.: Op. Clt.

 27

OTTO RANK

The Basis of a Will Therapy*

"Es gibt kein Hindernis, das man nicht zerbrechen kann, denn
das Hinder nis ist nur des Willens we gen da, und in Wahrheit
sind keine Hindernisse als nur im Geist"

"There are no obstacles that one cannot overcome, for the

obstacle is only there on account of the will and in truth there
are no obstacles but psychic ones."
RABBI NACHMAN

Psychoanalysis in its mingling of theory and therapy has failed to

detect the actually effective therapeutic agent and psychological
understanding of which alone can furnish the basis for theoretical
generalization. First it was the making conscious of the uncon-
scious (association) which we know today is not itself thera-
peutic. Then was the abreaction of the affects, a kind of psychic
it

emptying which at best means only a temporary relief,

(catharsis)
nothing lasting or constructively effective. Finally it was the trans-
ference relationship which forms a kind of synthesis of these two
psychological factors. Transference not only contains something
passive, temporary, derived, but actually represents that aspect
of the relationship to the analyst. But passivity, dependence, or
weakness of will in any form is just the difficulty on account of
*
Reprinted from Will Therapy &
Truth and Reality by Otto Rank, trans-
lated from the German by Jessie Taft, by permission of Alfred A, Knopr,
Inc., and The Vision Press, Ltd. Copyright, 1936, 1945, by Alfred A. Knopf,
Inc.

45 *
456 tto

which the neurotic comes for treatment, therefore transference

cannot be the therapy to which we attach the idea of something
positive.
What naturally and spontaneously effective in
is the transfer-
ence situation and, rightly understood and handled, is also effec-

tive therapeutically is the same thing that is potent in every

the will. Two
relationship between two human beings, namely
wills clash, either the one overthrows the other or both struggle
with and against one another for supremacy. Adler has seen this
battle for supremacy in analysis, "the will to be on top" (Oben-
sein wollen) as he calls it, at least he has not denied it, for it
,

is so clear that only the wish not to seeit can explain its neglect

Freud. However, Adler has apparently not been able to see

by
that the phenomena described by him represent only the form
in which the will manifests itself in the analytic situation as in
similar life situations. In other words, he takes this will to superi-
ority as an ultimate psychological fact, but gives no psychology of
will in general, which alone would make these phenomena in-

telligible. In contrast to this

social pedagogical presentation of

Adler, Freud's whole life work is nothing but a continued at-

tempi to interpret what Adler naively takes for what it seems,
and to explain it by tracing it back to primitive biological roots.
The peculiarly psychological problem seems to me to lie exactly
between the two. Whence comes the will, and why psychologi-
cally must we interpret this will not understood in its origin, now
as will to power and again as sex drive, and more than that, why
must we interpret it at all, instead of being able to recognize its
true psychological nature? This problem includes in itself as we
see, epistemological and ethical questions the answers to which

belong to a philosophy of the psychic. It seems, therefore, to be

no accident that Adler's "attempt to dominate" (Herrschsucht)
represents an ultimate fact, just as the will to power does for
Nietzsche, and that Freud's libido concept and death instinct show
a like relation to Schopenhauer's blind will and the denial of it
in the Nirvana wish.
In every case, however, they arrived at no will psychology be-
cause (with Nietzsche on the whole excepted) they brought in
moral or social values which are probably justified therapeutically
The Basis of a Will Therapy 457

or pedagogically, yes, might even be necessary, but stand in the

way of a purely psychological understanding. For Adler's "will
to power" is at bottom exactly as "bad" as Freud's instinct, which
he euphemistically calls the infantile wish, and with both, the

therapy consists in freeing from, rooting out, mastering or sub-

limating. Where Freud met the will of the other he called it "re-
sistance" (to his will), and where Adler came upon this counter-
will he called it masculine protest in the light of his conscious
psychology, or obstinacy in the pedagogical meaning. At the
moral evaluation; it is "bad." Re-
basis of both presentations lies a
sistanceone must overcome or break like obstinacy. Perhaps such
evaluation is unavoidable in therapy and education for they must
apparently be governed by some such norms. But one must know
this and allow for it instead of first creating for their apparent

grounding a psychology that is oriented to these very same norms.

A purely scientific psychology must guard itself against including
moralistic values of any kind. It must first of all be purely psycho-
logical, apart from values in a word must describe what is, not
what should be, and explain why it is so or must be so. The fact
that self assertion, protest, obstinacy are pedagogically undesir-
able is another thing, just as will, insistence on freedom, and as-
sertion of personality are socially frowned upon. But you will find
no strong willed man and likewise no great leadership as an
expression of this strong will, without its seeming to the individual
who comes up against it, to be self will, obstinacy, or contrari-
ness. 1 What Adler wishes apparently is the pedagogical ideal of
the super-result without that burdensome accessory phenomenon.
What such a pedagogical method can achieve is no super-result,
but only an average, just as Freud's medically oriented therapy
for the neurotic strives for an ideal ot normality.
In relation to the problem of a constructive individual therapy
then, this is to be noted, that first of all in opposition to pedagogy
and pedagogically oriented psychoanalysis with its father com-
plex, it must refrain from moral evaluation of every kind. It is

important that the neurotic above all learn to will, discover that
x
ln this sense the clever American is right in his ironical version of the
Adlerian inferiority complex, which he, with reference to the compensatory
benefits, designated as the golden complex. (Lee Wilson Dodd:
''The Golden
Complex. A defence of Inferiority." N. Y. 1927.)
458 Otto Rank

he can will without getting guilt feeling on account of willing.

The danger which one might see in this does not exist in reality,
for there remain always many regulating factors (repressions
and ideals) which restrain him from converting this will of his
into action. One can see such a danger in therapy only if like
Freud he conceives of morality in general as externally deter-

mined. Purely psychological consideration would show that it is

his own inner inhibitions that make the individual not only moral
but even hyper-ethical. In this will psychology I shall show how
the rehabilitation of will solves many problems at one stroke;
in will has always played a great role, but it has lacked
therapy,
its own psychology which would have made it scientifically ac-

ceptable as a therapeutic agent

and therefore also therapeutically
effective. Instead it has been given over to fakirs, hypnotists,
and
charlatans of every kind. With what contempt we still look down
the will, even to
upon all methods of strengthening and training
Coue, although they have helped many human beings. Not that
I myself believe that a neurotic can be healed, because he daily
declares that things are better with him, but what is manifested
in all these teachings and the experiences by which they are sup-

ported, is the fact of the will,

not merely the belief in its power,
the feeble wish that it be so strong and mighty. The very sugges-
tion that the will be strong, is itself an expression of the strength
of the will, which apparently we are obliged to seek a justi-
for
fication, or cover, as Freud did
in the romantic garb of the

"wish." The power of will is so great and its expressions in the

individual as in humanity so notorious, that one could fill volumes
and libraries with the description of human acts of will and their
beneficial effects, not only could fill, but has filled,
and destructive
in the writing of the history of humanity history of every form
and kind, especially the kind that is known under the name of
Psychology.
The psychological problem par excellence makes its first ap-
pearance with this question, why
must we always deny the will,

call it now God, now Fate, or attribute to it an "id." In other

words, the essential problem of psychology is our abolition of the
fact of will, the explanation of the manifold types of abolition
The Basis of a Will Therapy 459

of will and its This psy-

varying interpretation at different times.
chological problem, actually the problem of psychology, as it
meets us in psychoanalysis, is therefore a universal problem,
which psychoanalysis did not recognize because as therapeutic,
i.e.as a morally oriented psychology, it could not. We seem to
have here a kind of universal guilt feeling as far as will is con-
cerned. Human willing is the root of the peculiar guilt problem
which psychoanalysis could not explain because it had fallen into
it
therapeutically itself. Psychotherapy must make the person
not only well but also good, yet the bad, the arch evil, is the will,
no matter whether one interprets it biologically like Freud as sex
drive (libido), or like Adler sociologically as will to power, or

pedagogically as obstinacy. For an understanding of the mo-

tives which lead universally to the necessity of an interpretation
of will, of one kind or another, we have first to comprehend fully
the psychological evaluation of human nature as well as the
modern psychology of the individual.
After this necessary digression into will psychology, we now
turn back to will therapy and shall describe how the will is denied
in the analytic situation before we present the positive side, that
is, how the will expresses itself in a therapeutic experience and
how it can and must be constructively used. In Freud's analysis,
the will apparently plays no particular part, either on the side
of the patient or on the side of the analyst. The basic analytic
rule of "free association" specifically states, eliminate entirely
the little bit of will which your neurotic weakness has perhaps not
yet undermined and resign yourself to the guidance of the un-
conscious, to the id, also taking pains to eliminate the ethical
inhibitions of the censor, the super-ego. Likewise the analyst, ac-

cording to the rule which holds for him also, must guard against
forcing his will upon the patient, either by prohibitions or com-
mands, or even by premature or enforced interpretations. We
know that on both sides this is possible only to a certain degree,
and that is lucky, for the impossibility of carrying through this
Buddhistic will-lessness provides the therapeutic foundation of
the analytic situation. With reference to later deductions, it would
not be paradoxical to say that psychoanalysis, in its therapeutic
460

consequences, is an involuntary proof of the existence and

strength of the will, and this was and also is its only therapeutic
value.
When I say that the mutual exclusion of will in the analytic
situation is possible to a limited degree only, I describe an ideal
situation whose therapeutic value however is always arrived at
by its miscarriage. Actually, the analytic situation shows
not
that exclusion of will is possible only to a degree but that
merely
as a fact it is impossible and every attempt to exclude it only
conflict of wills
strengthens the will reactions. In this continuous
which analysis presents it is then of minor importance whose
will reactions are stronger, or to use the well known question,
who began it. Usually it is the analyst with his fundamental rule
who at once sets up a will conflict which is not concluded to the

very end of the analysis and often beyond it. I say usually it is

the analyst who begins, that is true only if one is not willing
to understand the coming of the patient for help as a disguised
a manifestation of his
challenge to a duel, in reality, however,
own inner conflict of will. The physician advises his patient and

the patient by accepting this advice makes this his own will
a medicine, de-
regardless of whether it has to do with taking
priving of an indulgence, seeking of a watering place, or the de-
ciding upon an operation. The analyst to whom the patient turns
for help, cannot advise him, avoids carefully everything which
approaches that, in order thus to find and permit the patient to
findwhat he himself actually wants. The analyst insists only on
this one which actually dictates to the patient, what
strict rule,

he shall do in the which is, psychologically speaking,

analysis,
not to will; a rule which the patient does not and cannot under-
stand, which one cannot even explain to him, and which he ac-
cordingly cannot make his own will even if he follows it. This
situation presents factually and psychologically therefore nothing
other than the opening of a great duel of wills, in which this first
easy victory over the apparently weak-willed patient is bitterly
avenged many times. Be that as it may, always his downfall, in
the true sense of the word, is only external, for the chief rule of
free association the patient cannot follow even if he would. From
this fact one may explain the two typical reaction patterns which
The Basis of a Will Therapy 461

always rule the analytic picture, resistance and guilt feeling. It

isevident already that in the analytic situation and because of
it every expression of the will of the patient can only manifest
itself as resistance, even though he must react to it with guilt
feeling because he ought not to have any resistance, that is, ought
to abolish his will. We know that the honest assurance that re-
sistance unavoidable, nay is even necessary, helps not at all,
is

because only means that the will cannot be exterminated, while

it

one's intention is to abolish it practically, as one has denied

it Whether this resistance manifests itself as the
theoretically.
father complex of the man, or the masculine protest of the
woman, or desire to dominate in general, is unimportant as com-
pared to the psychological understanding of the situation. One
must recognize that the individual suffers not necessarily from a
father complex or a masculine protest, but from a situation in
which a strange will is forced on him and makes him react with
accentuation of his own will. This counter-will takes for its con-
tent at times a varying ideology, in terms of which the psycho-
analyst habitually interprets it, and inevitably, as a voluntarily ac-
cepted representative of authority at the same time evaluates it
morally. It is more important, however, to recognize that this
negative reaction of the patient represents the actual therapeutic
value, the expression of will as such, which in the analytic situa-
tion can only manifest itself as resistance, as protest,- that is,
only as counter-will.
With
this initial will conflict of the analytic situation, the strug-

gle naturally not settled. There come sooner or later strong

is

phases of resistance or guilt reactions, which are insurmountable

for the classical analytic technique and they forced Freud to the
construction of new theories, which led him even further away
from the will problem. Even when one knows how to avoid such

dangerous obstacles by patience or guidance, every analysis nec-

essarily comes at last to a point in which the will conflict, how-
ever neglected, breaks out openly, without one's having recog-
nized it before, much less having made it useful therapeutically.
The ending of the analysis is crucial even when one sets no
definite limit, when as the classical analysis maintains, the whole
analytic release depends on the acceptance of a definite content,
462 Otto Rank
For the most part, this content presents itself in the reconstruc-
tion of early history, which therapeutically has no other value
than that of a "bone," over which both parties struggle to the ut-
most. That this struggleis carried out around a spying upon coi-

tus, in and for most uninteresting, or about a castration

itself

threat in childhood, lends to the patient the affective emphasis

which he needs to bear it and for the analyst on his side it has
value because of his interest in the confirmation of his theory. The
essential point, however, is that this bone of contention is usually
tied up with the problem of the ending of the analysis, which leads
to that final struggle characteristic of analytic therapy, an unheard
of phenomenon in the whole field of the healing art. The patient
against the assertion of the analyst that the analysis is at an end,
that he is cured, reacts with a protest, which can be explained
not simply as transference resistance, but psychologically must
be comprehended as a will protest, as a contradiction. It is well
known that one cannot release these final struggles successfully,
at most only increase them, if one treats them as resistances. And
also even where such an analysis is ending well, it is only after
the patient succeeds in putting over his own will in some way or
other, whether it be in the form of a love demand or whether it
be more open resistance, thus for example, when he afterwards
submits to an operation, only to prove that he was right and the
other wrong about his illness.
I, myself, grasped relatively early the therapeutic meaning of

the will problem, but only now am able to formulate it clearly.

I soon realized that all the active measures which could not be

entirely avoided even by Freud and whose specific use as pro-

hibitions by Ferenczi naturally could only lead to an increase of
the resistances, at bottom mean nothing except challenges of will,
and that it would make no difference therefore, whether one for-
bade to the patient smoking or sex activity or certain foods. So
I very early limited myself to one active measure, which relates

to the analytic situation itself and in its very nature is unavoid-

able, that is, the end setting; naturally, as I have always empha-
sized, not in the sense of an arbitrary act on the part of the ana-

lyst, but as it seemed certain that the ending of the analysis

represents a will conflict, and as there is no doubt that it must be

The Basis of a Will Therapy 463

ended sometime (although there are endless analyses) it appeared

to melogical as well as psychological to allow the patient to
carry out the unavoidable will conflict in the problem of ending.
When I introduced end setting into analysis, therefore, I did it

with the full knowledge of the meaning of active measures in

general and tried not to make it an apple of discord through
force, but to let it be carried through by choice as a purely inner
conflict of will. I looked also for criteria in the patient's own ex-

pressions of will even not always obvious, in order to discover

if

when he himself should be ripe for the definite time of termina-

tion. It was then evident that the patient, even with his own will
directed to ending the analysis, reacted to the fixing of an ending
with resistance. However, these reactions were so evidently con-
trariness that the patient could hardly deny in them his own will
conflict. Specifically moved in two extreme directions, in-
they
differently, either of which revealed itself as an expression of
counter- will. They would demand either the continuation of the
analysis with the rationalization that the ending as determined
could not possibly allow sufficient time or an immediate breaking
off, because in so short a period nothing more was to be accom-

plished. These demands only mean therefore "No otherwise!"

One need not trouble to search for a particular reason for this will
reaction.
Thetechnical superiority of this ending technique is as great
as therapeutic advantage, provided, of course, it is applied
its

in the right spirit, that is, with the understanding of the will psy-

chology, which shows that the will under the pressure of the
strange will can only manifest itself as counter- will in the analytic
situation.This automatic reaction, which the therapeutic situa-
tion with its apparent disadvantage to the patient regularly pro-
duces, governs the entire analytic situation from the beginning;
itonly needed an exact study of the will reactions of the patient in
%he open struggle of the ending to recognize and understand this
in its full significance. This showed that one was dealing essen-

tially neither with father-resistance, masculine protest, nor yet

with mother fixation, but purely with an inner conflict of will
which manifests itself externally according to the situation. In the
final struggle, this inner conflict becomes evident through the
46 4 Otto Rank

fact that the patient, as we have seen, wants two different things
at the same time, both the end and the continuation of the analy-
sis. Incidentally this throws a light on the
nature of so-called

ambivalence, as a conflict of will, or better said, as the human

capacity for mobilizing will and counter-will at one time. The

into relief the whole
technique of end setting used by me brings
will problem in its double-sided aspect (ambivalence), and cor-
solution. The analyst yields to the
rectly handled carries it to a
growing will of the
patient to end the analysis, while at the same
time through fixing a definite time, which is necessary for the
solution of this will conflict, he contradicts the patient, inhibits
his will. This situation provokes the whole ambivalent conflict
of
the patient, because it corresponds to it so perfectly. When one
gives in, he doesn't want his own way any more and when one
does not yield, he wants it again. The essential point is that

one can easily show him in these final reactions that this will con-
flicthas to do with an internal, not an external struggle, and
of his whole psychic life.
represents the fundamental conflict
Why and how this is so, belongs to a presentation of will psy-
elsewhere simultaneously. Here we
2
chology which I shall give

shall examine further the therapeutic aspects of such a concep-

tion of the will problem. Having pointed out how this funda-
mental will conflict manifests itself in the analytic final struggle,
we go back to the moment in which the patient sought analysis.
We said before that, with reference to the later course of the
the appearance (in the
therapeutic process, one could consider
to a battle of
ofHce) of the patient seeking help as a challenge
wills. This is doubtless correct, but the patient shows at the same
time another will, that is, to yield, to submit himself, which is

what brings him as a seeker for help to the therapist. Yes, we

can and must go even further and say that when the patient ap-
will conflict usually of quite
pears he has already gone through a
long duration, which we designate as neurosis, in which at the
time of his coming the will to submit has the upper hand. In other
words, the help-seeking patient brings his whole neurotic conflict,
which at bottom is a will conflict, to the analytic situation, to
which he wishes to submit himself but which at the same time
"Truth and Reality. Alfred A. Knopf, 1936.
The Basis of a Will Therapy 465

he resists. On
this very conflict the inability to submit and the

inability to put over his own will positively, his whole neurosis
depends. In the analytic situation he seeks to solve externally
this inner will conflict, since he puts a strange will over his own,
but soon feels this will as forced on him. Accordingly the task
of the therapist is not to act as will, which the patient would
like, but only to function as counter-will in such a way that the
will of the patient shall not be broken, but strengthened. If for

any reason the therapist does not understand this dynamics of

will, then he plays the role of "divine will" temporarily put on
him by the patient while the patient acts out the counter-will, the
resistance, the negative lead, but ail only in the terms of the old
neurotic reaction pattern. One could formulate the whole antithe-
sis by expressing the Freudian compulsory rule in terms of the
will psychology, "Say whatever you wish, for it is all one what
you say." It is essential how you say it (or do not say it) and
when. What the patient needs is the positive expression of his
will without the inhibiting guilt feeling, a goal which is to be
attained only by the actual overcoming of the therapist and com-
plete ruling of the analytic moment of experience.
This conception of the will conflict and its therapeutic value in
the analytic experience throws a light also upon one of the most
important of its manifestations, which, without reference to the
will psychology, remains unintelligible. It is the problem of the
so-called will-to-health. Evidently the patient must have in addi-
tion to his neurosis something like a will-to-health also, when he
gives himself over to treatment. It seems to me equally certain
that this will-to-health becomes less as soon as the treatment has
begun and continues to decrease, the further it advances, if one
does not understand how to psychologically and
comprehend its

use it therapeutically. For the first thing the patient does when
he begins treatment, is to project his will-to-health onto the
analyst who represents it as it were, just by virtue of his profes-
sion. That is, the patient himself no longer needs to will to be-
come well, as the analyst must and will make him sound. This
is an example of the tendency of the patient just described to
make the therapist represent positive will, and to keep for himself
the negative role, a tendency on whose correct understanding the
whole psychotherapeutic process stands or falls. Its success de-
to be
pends on just this, the ability to allow this will-to-health
instead of per-
preserved and strengthened in the patient himself,
mitting it to be projected upon the analyst.
This is possible only
when the whole situation in all its manifestations is
therapeutic
evaluated constructively in terms of the will problem. The posi-
tive strengthening of the will-to-health to the level of an actual

becoming well and remaining well depends completely and en-

tirely upon the will of the patient which even for the period of
this treatment must take over the capacity for becoming well and
later for remaining well The imperfect comprehension of this
to interpretation which re-
problem explains a typical tendency
veals the whole controversy between psychoanalysis and will

psychology. Weshall again confine ourselves to the purely thera-

peutic aspect of this problem, which at the same time throws a

light on its general meaning. We can best illustrate it by an ob-

which was raised against end setting, and the criteria
jection
which I have applied to determine it. When the patient, let us say
signs that he wants
in dreams, betrays to leave the
for example
analysis and I interpret not only as resistance but also as prog-
it

ress, the objection is made that it might be merely a "wish" of

the patient. This objection is easy as it rests on the wish-fulfilment

theory of dreams, without questioning its psychological founda-

tion. Where, however, the patient expresses this tendency
toward
himself, not in a dream, but in other forms of emotional
freeing
of "resistance."
reaction, then the analyst will rather tend to speak
In both cases he overlooks, in my opinion which I will establish
elsewhere theoretically, the positive expression of will appearing
in these reactions, which manifests itself now as resistance, again
3
disguises itself as wish.

*
The dream work which Freud emphasizes, is just the dynamic guided by
can determine
the dreamer within himself, whose consequence the therapist
only after the fact. With reference to affects
worked out in the dream, Freud's
wish-fulfilment theory proves to be too narrow, rather
one could speak of an
'

unburdening function of the dream. As to the dreams produced

in analysis

and particularly in the last phase, they show clearly that they have to do with
an attempt by the will to control the situation. The dream is here no wish-
fulfilment, but a will accomplishment, a distinction
which is meaningful as
the distinction between wish and will, for it says that the patient wants to
accomplish the whole task within himself and will find release only
in his own
The Basis of a Will Therapy 467

To the difficulty of recognizing the expression of will as such

and also why it manifests itself in the patient now as wish and
another time as resistance is added the psychology of the analyst.

the reaction of the patient is one an analyst has in

If, specifically,

mind, then the suspicion of suggestion occurs and this leads to

the interpretation of will expression as "wish"; if the reaction of
the patient is not in the analyst's mind, then it must be interpreted
as resistance. Here again we see how the correct understanding
of the reactions of the patient depends on the general attitude
of the analyst to the whole therapeutic experience, and not merely
to details of the analytic situation. If the will of the patient from
the beginning is systematically and purposefully made to be the
bearer of the whole therapeutic process, then there can be no
question practically whether his tendency toward freeing himself
isonly a wish or merely resistance. For in both cases it concerns
one of the numerous will expressions of the patient, all of which
he seeks to deny; in one case directly since he says, that is not my
willbut only the expression of my counter-will, my spirit of oppo-
sition,another time indirectly, when he says this is not my will but
only a wish. In other words, the explanation of expressions of will
on the basis of psycho-analytic theory strengthens the patient in
his tendency to deny all will expressions, which is just the essence

of his neurosis.
That the will in the therapeutic experience can only manifest
itself as resistance or as a timid wish, the pedagogic setting
lies in

of the analytic situation. The difference, therefore, between the

analytic therapy and the will therapy is, as has already been said,
that analysis is pedagogically oriented, while will therapy works
purely psychologically. The one wants to work educationally,
the other constructively, that is, in a self determining way. In

autonomous self. This explains moreover the appearance of dreams soon after
the beginning of the analysis in persons who usually do not dream at all or
very seldom. That, in addition, the dream can also have during the treatment
the reversed meaning of a present, a gift to the analyst, proves nothing
against its autonomous tendency, which it has naturally. For the dream is not
destined usually for sharing and yet certainly has an auto-therapeutic effect.
In the production of dreams, especially in the end phase of treatment, the
patient seizes only upon the natural function of the dream, as a psychic self-
regulator in order t&us to make himself independent of the analyst once more,
that is of the therapeutic situation.
468 Otto Rank

analysis, resistance stands in the center, the goal is to conquer it,

which in my opinion can never happen either in pedagogy or in
pedagogically oriented therapy. The goal of constructive therapy
is not the overcoming of resistance, but the transformation of the

negative will expression (counter- will) underlying them into posi-

tive and eventually creative expression.
 Transference and
Countertransference

The phenomenon of transference was one of Freud's major dis-

coveries. For the first time, it provided an explanation and a
method for constructively coping with a phenomenon "which in-
truded into every therapeutic situation. The patient would experi-
ence intense emotions toward the therapist which had little to do
with the realities of the situation. The emotions might be affilia-
tive, either affectionate or sexual, or they might be hostile, but
might disrupt the course of the therapy. Freud
in either event they
discovered that the sources of this phenomenon were emotions
felt toward important figures in the patient's early life, which were
now transferred to the person of the therapist, hence the name
transference.
Since the transference might be expected to develop most
clearly if ft were not confused with the patient's reactions to the
actual personality of the analyst, Freud felt that it was necessary
for the analyst to remain as amorphous a figure as possible. The
rationale for this is discussed in the paper by Balint. It was soon
recognized by many analysts that this was not entirely feasible,
since the therapist's real personality was, in fact, part of the situa-
tion and could not be ignored. Further research as described in
the paper by French suggests that it may be possible to manipu-
late the transference in a useful manner.
Since the phenomenon of transference was discovered before
the psychoanalytic understanding of character, the two entities
were for a long time treated as separate though parallel streams.
There however, as the paper by Thompson shows, cogent
is,

ground for considering the two as related, and it may well develop
that as our understanding of character becomes clearer the con-

cept of transference may be adequately included in it.

There is another recent development that is hinted at in the
paper by Rioch and more fully developed in that of Rado in the
469
470 Transference and Countertransference

next section. Rioch draws the analogy between the automatically

repetitive characteristics of transference and the phenomenon of
hypnosis. Rado relates the two more explicitly, suggesting that
transference may be induced by those elements of the analytic
situation which foster the dependence of the patient.
The phenomenon of Countertransference, analogous to trans-

ference, but occurring in the analyst, is described in the paper by

Cohen.
 28

MICHAEL BALINT
On Transference of Emotions*

Psycho-analysis has been built up on two well-established facts

of clinical experience. The one is resistance. During the flow of
free associations the patient often feels an impulse not to tell the
next idea (or a series of ideas) because it would be unpleasant,
ridiculous, unessential, painful, etc. The analyst notices the re-
sistance by the unequal flow of the associations, i.e. sudden devia-

tions, accelerations, retardations or even complete interruption

of speech. These experiences have been the source of the assump-
tion of the unconscious mind, of repression, and in general of the

dynamic conception of psychic processes. The facts, the basis of

these ideas, are so obvious, so easily observable by everyone, so
undeniable, that the above-mentioned ideas though sometimes
under different names have already been accepted by the scien-
tificworld; nowadays a completely hostile criticism is scarcely
ever heard.
The situation entirely different with regard to the second,
is

equally important observation: transference. This important fact

of experience which led to a psycho-analytic theory of instincts,
and recently to the beginnings of a psycho-analytic character-
ology, has been challenged, often disapproved of, even completely
rejected. This attitude has two main causes. The one is that trans-
ference, though in the same way a general phenomenon, needs a

trained, unprejudiced observer; the other is that it is intimately

*
Paper originally read in 1933 to the Hungarian Psychological Society.
British examples substituted later. Published in Hungarian Gydgyaszat (1933) )L

73. Reprinted from Primary Love and Psycho-Analytic Technique, by Michael

Balint, published by Liveright Publishing Corp.

471
472 Michael Balint

connected with the field of emotions. Let us begin therefore with

some not very dangerous examples. In a hot dispute it may
occur that one or the other disputant hits the table with his fist,
as it were to give more weight to his arguments. Or it may happen
that one hears things which make one angry; if one's excitement
has not cooled down by the end of the talk one may bang the door
when going out of the room. Or, after taking leave from his best
beloved a young man may notice that she has forgotten her
the young man feels still hap-
gloves; again it may happen that
pier in the possession of these valuable objects, even that he kisses
them.
Let us study these rather uninteresting examples more closely.
We see that in each of them a very intense emotion takes hold of
the person. Obviously, this emotion is caused by, and directed
towards, a certain person; yet it is lived out
on something else.
Our man is not at all angry with the table or with the door, not
at all in love with the gloves, and still they have to suffer, or
to rejoice as the case may be. Described in scientific language:
our man has transferred his feelings, his emotions, from the
original object to something else.
My next task is to show you with what an important, general
phenomenon we are dealing, a phenomenon which permeates
the whole of our social life. It is not at all an exaggeration to
say that there isscarcely any sphere of social, religious, political
life where transference is not a very important factor. First of

all there is the realm of symbols: the National Ensign, the British

Lion and Unicorn, the crest of a family, owe their great impor-
tance to transference of feelings. The same holds true for the
Queen's uniform, or for the officer's epaulettes. It would mean
carrying coals to Newcastle should I try to prove the significance
of symbols for inciting or appeasing feelings to a British audience.
"British" itself is such a symbol, carefully chosen not to hurt the
feelings of any nationality of the United Kingdom. Then each
corner of a postage stamp bears a symbolic flower: the rose, the
thistle, the daffodil and the shamrock. A
criminal act is taken as
having injured the sovereign, and all prosecutions are in his name,
Regina v. N. Every official envelope bears the imprint "On Her
Majesty's Service," and it cannot be left unmentioned that the
On Transference of Emotions 473

vast Commonwealth of British Nations is legally held together

not by institutions, treaties or laws but mainly by a symbol, the
Queen's person.
Less important symbols are the colours of the universities (e.g.
dark blue and light blue) or those of clubs. Of much greater
importance are the religious symbols: the cross, the genuflexion,
the different ways of ringing the church bells. It is quite obvious
that the symbol itself is almost valueless, its immense value is
due to the transferred emotions.
Social and political life often tries to make good use of trans-
ference, frequently intentionally provoked for certain pre-
it is

meditated effects, e.g. inventing a new slogan or a new way of

greeting.
Another where transference plays an outstanding role is
field
tradition.Very often the usage, the institution itself, is time-
worn and decrepit, often even very boring and annoying, still
we stick to it, as is often said, because of our honour and love
for our fathers. That means that the usage, the institution, has
inherited the feelings which, by rights, belonged to our fathers.
As one of the innumerable examples let me quote the wigs worn
by the Speaker, Judges, Barristers, etc.
A very similar phenomenon is reverence, the basis of which is

always transference. A
letter, a valueless object like a glove, a

cane, a dried flower, a hideous piece of furniture, are kept with

the same care, with the same love, which were due to their
owners. A
very instructive proof is a visit to a so-called Memorial
Museum. In Weimar, for instance, Goethe's wash-basin and even
his chamber-pot are reverently kept, and with the same reverence
the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society exhibited the
top hat and the bedroom-slippers of Dalton in a glass case.
A further inexhaustible sphere for studying transference is
love. It is impossible to imagine or even invent an object which
could not be used, and occasionally has not been used, for trans-
ference. Beginning with punched tickets, used when together, and
pieces of clothing worn by her or by him, everything in the world
was, is and will be taken by lovers to represent him or her, to
be kept in love, honour or adoration in his or her place. Quite
recently I heard of a dental surgeon who kept a girl's tooth ex-
474 Michael Balint

the
tracted by him in high esteem for two years and married girl

afterwards.
A very frequent technique of joking is based
on transference.
of a husband who
To quote only one famous story: the dilemma
If he throws out the wife, he
surprised his wife with his partner.
has to give the dowry back, if he throws out the partner, his busi-
ness will go bankrupt, and thus, finally, after long hesitation, he
throws out the couch.
an important role. To
In linguistics, too, transference plays

prove it I have only to remind you of such phrases as: the front
table, the brow of a hill; then: the pale
of a house, the leg of a
moon, the blushing sky, happy day, distressful years, etc.
a
This enumeration could be continued endlessly I hope this
much is enough to show that transference really is a general
It is not difficult to detectboth the causes and the
phenomenon.
aims of transference. The cause is always the circumstance that
(at that moment) the emotion
cannot be lived out on the origi-
nal person or object or even cannot be lived out on it at all. This
is clearly demonstrated by our story
of the couch. The same is
true of reverence where the original person is either dead or
remote. Sometimes the original person is present, but some other
fear, compassion, love, etc., prevents us
from doing
feeling, e.g.
to him what we would like to do. As you see, transference has a
the mind; it enables us to live out emo-
great economical value for
tions which otherwise must be carefully controlled, and so frees
us from unnecessary strain e.g. after having banged the door or

hit the table we and in the same way it is easier to

feel easier

endure the a beloved person if we have something to keep

loss of
him or her in our memory. This economical function is one of the
aims of transference.
I am afraid that for the present you may see hardly any con-

nection with psycho-analysis. This is my fault. I have deliberately

omitted something. Up till now we have studied transference
from the standpoint of the transferring subject only, and we have
not even asked what the object, on to which deservedly or unde-
servedly had been transferred, will say to it. To
the emotions
wit, not yet asked what the triumphantly waved dark-
we have
blue piece of cloth, the reverently preserved glove, or the angrily
On Transference of Emotions 475

banged door would like to say! I know this question sounds odd
or even funny. But I can confess now that
have aimed at this
I

effect, have intentionally selected only such examples where

I

the object, being inanimate, cannot say anything. Only this pro-
cedure made it possible for me to demonstrate to you such clear,
obvious situations. The whole picture at once becomes different
when emotions are transferred on to a human being, to whom it
matters considerably whether he has been caressed or hit, hon-
oured or despised. He certainly will not remain unimpressed and
will react according to his aroused emotions, hopelessly disturb-

ing the clear psychological situation. And more than that, trans-
ference being an absolutely general tendency, he too will strive
to get rid of the strain existing in him, i.e. he will strive to trans-
fer his non-abreacted emotions to everyone within his reach. A

complete mess.
You remember I said that transference, though a trivial experi-
ence, cannot be as easily observed as resistance. Here we have
the explanation. I want to add one more explanation only. all We
know what needed to bring about a clear situation again. One
is

of the two persons concerned has to undertake the by no means

easy task of behaving in the first approach as passively as the
flag, the glove or the door. This person is the analyst, and the
resulting situation has been called "the psycho-analytic situa-
tion." What will happen if the analyst abandons his passive role?
A very namely the same which constantly happens
trivial thing,

among men; he be glad if he has been treated gently, if he

will
has heard nice words; and on the other hand, he will be angry
if he has been hit, bitterly reproached, told off or railed at, i.e. he

too will react and transfer his emotions on to his patient. Thus the
psycho-analytic relation will change into a trivial human relation
of friendliness or hostility, sympathy, love or hate, or even indif-
ference.
On the other hand, if the analyst has been able to preserve his
elastic passivity, by not bringing anything from his side into the

developing relationship, then the patient alone has to form it.

Only under such condition is it possible to show up the effects of
the patient's transference and to follow them in detail. I cannot
sufficiently emphasise how difficult this task can be. Generally it
476 Michael Balint

to remember
thought that the real difficulty for the analyst
is
is

the innumerable data, events, details, reported by each of

his

or to the different material concerning the

patients, keep apart
different or to interpret it. All these tasks are not at all
patients,
difficult compared withthe preserving of this elastic passivity,
with the benevolent conducting of the transference, with the abso-
lute mastering of his own counter-transference; these
are the

touch-stones of the analyst. Analytic treatment requires some-

similar to or bacteriological
surgical sterility; and as these
thing
cannot be learned from books, but only by practice, so there is
the didactic or train-
only one way to learn this analytic sterility:
As is well known, this means that the student has to
ing analysis.
undergo the same procedure which he intends to use with his fu-

ture patients. I think a lot of polypragmasy could be prevented,

should it be possible to introduce this requirement into the general
medical and especially surgical curriculum.
I would like to illustrate with a few examples the
difficulties

waiting for the analyst. At the same time you will see how cun-
in inventing ingenious devices
ning the unconscious mind can be
with the single aim of forcing the analyst to abandon his passivity.
E.g. one day a man appears
to consult me about his nervous com-

plaints. He tells
me his name, his family relations, really every-
thing, a very complicated story. As usual, before asking anything,
I tell' him that he would do better to refuse
to answer than to

answer not quite sincerely; this makes a deep impression on him,

and he readily answers all my questions. Nevertheless I cannot get
a clear enough picture of his problems and I tell him so, when
after more than an hour I have to end the interview. We agree
that in a few days he will ring me up again. He does so, he comes
After a while I interrupt him with
again and continues his story.
the confession that I am still unable to understand the situation:
the more he tells me, the less clearly I see. My man takes a deep
breath and says: "At last a sincere man/' Then he tells me that
his name is different, the whole story family relations, nervous
symptoms, everything was invented; he wanted to test me first,
because he wants a truthful man to whom to disclose his secrets.
He has already tried several physicians in the same way, but each
of them fell into the trap, giving him advice and prescriptions for
On Transference of Emotions 477

his faked symptoms. Of course I agreed with Mm, really nobody

ought to be trusted before being tested, but I added that it was

rather an expensive and very tiresome method of testing; there are
certainly ways of arriving at the same result with less cunning
and at a smaller price. As you can see, this man came in a pre-
pared attitude, entirely independent of my personality; this atti-
tude, the transference, was in this case a severe obstacle to
be overcome before he could establish a workable relation be-
tween his physician and himself. The attitude in this case was
conscious, even well rationalised. It is true that the energy re-
quired was not in proportion with the result aimed at. With such
a disproportion it is certain that the scheme of transference has
besides its conscious source also a powerful unconscious one,
but the discovery of this usually requires long and tiresome ana-
lytic work. In this case there was no time for it. Therefore it is
advisable in such a situation simply to agree with the patient, but
at the same time to show him how uneconomic his attitude is,
and thereby to try to change his "natural" attitude into a prob-
lematic one.
The end of the analytic session is another example of such a
transference, again consciously well rationalised. Usually we work
an hour a day with our patients, the end of the time being sig-
nalled in rather a stereotyped form. People react to it in various
ways. There are some who get up at once, say good-bye and are
already gone. Another cannot go away, he would like so much
to tell just this one idea then certainly he will go, he knows that
the next patient already waiting; but just this one story is so
is

nice, etc. ... A

third feels it as a grave offence that I am end-

ing the session and not he; during a great part, often the greater
part, of our working time, he has to prepare himself to endure
this unjust blow. A
fourth is very matter-of-fact, no emotions at
all; the time is over, he has to go; but he has to tell me that some-
thing very important came into his mind just at this moment;
certainly he has to wait with it till to-morrow if he does not for-

get it, which undoubtedly would be a great pity, caused by the

analyst's rigidity, indifference and impatience, etc., etc., in thou-
sands of variations.
As you see, each of them feels his attitude to be logical and
478 Michael Balint

natural. it must appear suspicious that each thinks

But to us
that his the only understandable attitude. To us, who see the
is

whole picture, the particular attitude is not so much natural as

characteristic for that certain person. With this we have arrived
at characterology. You know that there are as many character-

ologies as authors investigating this problem. Each of them in-

troduced a new classificatory system, supposed some new funda-
mental characters or temperaments different in many respects
from any previously described. The main cause of this mess is
the "unsterile" way of investigation. The different authors brought
their own likes and dislikes, their own
character and tempera-
ment, into the material and observed and described the phe-
nomena through the spectacles of their own transference. The
result of such work is naturally a psychology or a characterology
of the psychologist himself.
Psycho-analysis has gone a different way. Instead of begin-
ning by supposing some basic types, it investigated the mature
character-traitsby studying their actual working in the analytical
situation.Each man has his more or less automatic forms, even
schemes of reactions, and some of these have been assimilated
to such an extent that any other form is not only impossible, but

literally does not exist for the person in question. We call these
forms the character-traits. How are they to be treated in an analy-
sis? First of all the analyst must not react to them. That means,

taking the end of a session as an example, he does not find it

natural that even after an agitated hour his patient should be
able simply to go away without a moment's rest to collect himself;
neither does he allow the conversation to slip into a pleasant chat;
nor is he frightened that something very valuable could be irrep-
arably lost, etc. Thus keeping the analytic situation free of his
counter-transference, the analyst can demonstrate the automa-
tisms working in the patient, often without his being conscious
of them. It is a big step if not only the automatism itself but also
the effect which is aimed atcan be made conscious. So, keeping
to the examples given above, the patient who habitually runs
away at once was possibly a too-well-trained child, who has be-
come unable to feel and still less to express a desire. The other,
who cannot stop the new ideas coming into his mind, is skilfully
On Transference of Emotions 479

hiding the fact that he cannot acquiesce in simply being sent

away. The third, who suffers almost from the beginning of the
session from the expectation of being sent away, is often a spoilt
child, with a lot of aggressiveness behind his sensitivity. The
fourth, though seemingly very submissive, really wants to throw
the burden of responsibility on the analyst.
A still further step is to demonstrate that though this au-
tomatism can be economic under certain conditions, it is not
always so; very often it leads to unmanageable situations. The
next aim of the analysis is to look for the original situation, to
which form of reaction was well adapted, often the only
this

possible adaptation. This found, we are able to follow up the

whole process which led to the establishing of this particular
automatism, or, by its other name, of this character-trait. As
you see, this way is thoroughly different from that hitherto used
in characterology. We have no idea how many and which are
the basic types of character; we are simply collecting data in
the hope that the material will arrange itself with our increasing
knowledge.
I want to is meant when I stated that every
show what
character-trait has individual history.
its We
may get something
unexpected too, namely that quite unimportant trifles may let
loose a storm of transference. Therefore I have to begin with
such unimportant details. For a time my consulting-room was
so arranged that the couch was quite near my writing-desk. A
rather big plant used to stand on the corner of the desk, throw-
ing its shadow on the couch. One day the plant had been taken
out of my room to be washed and had not been brought back.
Neither I nor the first one or two patients noticed its absence.
The next one contrary to his habit began the session by
remaining silent. It was quite obvious by his whole behaviour
that he was feeling uneasy, was almost suffering. Finally, after
some encouragement, he burst out violently: "Why do you do
such things to me? And if it has to be done, why so brutally?"
Only after further encouragement was he able to tell that until
now he felt so comfortable in the shadow of the plant, it was
so reassuring, so homely. But now that the plant had been taken
away, he felt like one expelled, an outcast, a prey to the whole
480 Michael Balint

world, defencelessly handed over to every evil. You have to

imagine that he was a physically absolutely healthy youth, an

athlete, a champion weight-lifter and a member
of his university

eight. At that time I already knew that he had had to leave his

home when nine years old for a very severe boarding school, run
The i.e. the end of
by Jesuits. political situation at that time,
the war, three revolutions rapidly following one another and
the Rumanian occupation of Hungary, made it impossible for
his parents for about two years to take him home, or even to
come to see him; so he had to stand on his own feet. Outwardly
he was quite successful; a "cheerful" child at school, he developed
into a sincere and frank man who was always popular with
everyone. Now we had to learn what was the price he had to
pay for it. In his childhood he had to struggle against the same
emotions of being thrown out without mercy, but as there was
no hope of finding understanding, even a big risk of being laughed
at, he had to appear as a strong, robust man,
and to keep his
real, tender feelings to himself. Even today nobody knows what
he really feels; he has numerous good companions, not one
intimate friend. If possible, he sits in a corner, shielded by the
walls, speaks very little, is always on his guard and, curiously
enough, he does not like to do anything by himself, e.g. when
preparing for an examination he looks for somebody with whom
to work together, when rowing he always tries to make some-
one accompany him in order not to be alone in the boat, even
if he has to do the work of two. Of course his sexual life, his

love affairs, show the same picture: a strong longing for human
proximity with inability to maintain a real intimacy. The pic-
ture is in fact not simple, there are many ramifications, but two
tendencies are obvious: the fear of disclosing his affectionate
feelings and the striving not to become conspicuous. Needless to
say, the unveiling of this part of his history was an important
step in his analysis.
Let us take another case. The patient is a woman, of about
thirty-five, single; avery difficult case. I am her second analyst;
the first analysis was almost a failure. The main obstacle to the
analytical work is, her peculiar behaviour. Should there be any-
thing in her mind which is disagreeable or only inconvenient for
On Transference of Emotions 481

her to tell, she keeps silent or begins to chat about petty affairs
of the day. At times I can show her that she tendentiously tries
to avoid a specific subject in her associations, as often as not
even then she tells lies in order to escape. Days later, when her
emotions have gone, she admits her fears and insincere tricks.
Of course, in this way we need an immense amount of time for
the simplest matters. She knows very well that her whole life has
been made a hopeless mess by just such behaviour.
In one of our last sessions she produced again the same
"comedy" which is her own word. From the beginning it was
quite obvious that she was keeping something back. It cost more
than half an hour of hard work for both of us till she could
tell me that she had received a letter of recommendation from

her family doctor, and that in this letter she was described as
a conscientious and reliable person. On this occasion it was
possible to analyse some aspects of her behaviour. Here, nat-
urally, I can report only the main tendencies brought to light.
First of all, in her opinion it is a bad thing to be a grown-up;
really everyone should be afraid of it. In fact, it means to
be sentenced to hard labour for the rest of your life, and more-
over to be fully responsible for everything that you do. On the
other hand, a child is permitted to do what he likes, he has no
responsibility if anything should happen the parents are the

persons responsible; then there is no compulsion to work; every-

body finds it natural and even lovely when a child spends the
time playing. And really no one can demand hard work of a
little girl, not even a psycho-analyst.

Consequently her behaviour means: I am a little girl, you

should love me as I am, and you should not try to make me
work. This attitude could be traced back to her childhood. The
toother was and a fanatic for work; life for her, I quote
still is

her own words,"work, sweat and duty." She is the father's

is

second wife, and he probably married her because he wanted

somebody to work for him. The father, who died some years
ago, was a happy-go-lucky fellow; he did not like my patient,
his only daughter, but preferred his sons.
Her whole life is but a series of similar stories. She makes an
excellent start; later, when she notices that people take her
482 Michael Balint

seriously, begin to expect something of her i.e. expect her to

work she gets frightened of the responsibility, she begins to
"play the comedy," i.e. she demonstrates that she is a little
girl, quite irresponsible. E.g. at school she
was one of the best
pupils, a candidate for a scholarship, was offered the position
of prefect the result was that in a couple of weeks she made
herself quite impossible, and had to leave the school before her
H.S.C. In several jobs she did the same trick; once she worked
as a nurse to two children, everybody was entirely satisfied with
her, the parents offered her a rise in salary then in an amazingly
short time she turned everything upside down and left the post.
Obviously she does not want to be a grown-up because it would
mean leading a life similar to that of her mother. The following
day she reported that she presented herself with the letter and
took up a job. Very characteristically she became the secretary
of a domestic agent, i.e., in her own words, she sits by the
telephone and sends the others to work. Needless to say, that
almost every day she comes with new reasons as to why it would
be advisable for her to quit her job.
What can we see in all these examples? The behaviour of
these people not free, is not well adapted to the actual re-
is

quirements. There is a pattern working in them, and this pattern

determines their attitude towards important persons in their life.
This attitude, this pattern, is more or less automatic, either con-
stantly present, as with the last-mentioned patient, or a very
small stimulus is sufficient to activate it, as was the case with
our athlete. The main thing is that this pattern prescribes the
emotions felt towards a certain type of person; the persons them-
selves have very little or even no part at all in evoking these
emotions. All these patterns have an individual history, and if
this history I mean the original situation, in which this emotion
was first felt as a reasonable response to the real situation, and
all the subsequent changes of this response if this whole history

can be brought to consciousness the pattern becomes less im-

perative and the way to a new, more elastic adaptation is opened.
Does this mean that all character-traits are based on trans-
ference-patterns? Certainly not exclusively. But I would not like
to embark upon this endless subject of characterology, with all
On Transference of Emotion? 483

its fine discriminations between style, character, personality, etc.,

and with all its complex involvements between psychology, physi-
ology, endocrinology, genetics, sexual-biology, etc. only pur- My
pose was to show that transference of emotions plays a very
important part in shaping our character.
I should finally like to draw your attention to an important
point of detail which we have not yet discussed. All the reported
cases, without exception, show that the transferred emotions,
though often very intense or even stormy, are in fact somewhat
childish. This clinical fact, once a most surprising discovery,
led to a much deeper understanding of the so-called Oedipus
situation. You know that by that term psycho-analysis denotes
all those complex, often contradictory but always very intense
feelings and emotions which originate in every child during his
first years of existence. A great part of these emotions must re-
main without any an inappropriate outlet only,
outlet or with

many desires without proper gratification. It is general knowledge

that desires, especially love and hate, can live unnoticed for

very long periods and return at a favourable occasion in their

old strength. Psycho-analysis was able to show that these un-
gratified mental tendencies are not only persistent but that they
cause a considerable strain in the mind, because they have to
be kept in an inactive, so-called repressed, state. One means of
alleviating this strain is transference.
Now we understand better why all of us always can, and
actually do, transfer emotions on to everyone who is available,
why the whole of our social, cultural, religious, political life is
entirely permeated with transferred emotions. All these emo-
tions originate from the immense reservoir of the Oedipus com-
plex. This explains too why no attention was paid to these phe-
nomena before Freud, and how he came to discover them. The
psycho-analytic situation resembles in many respects the Oedipus
situation. It is understandable that under such circumstances
emotions are always transferred. It is not a paradox to state
firstthat our whole cultural life is permeated with transference,
that transference plays a paramount role in shaping our political,
religious, social life, and then to assert that the same transference
is childish. There is no contradiction, because we are speaking
484 Michael Balint

of the psychology of transference, and not of Its cultural value

which are two entirely different aspects.

These two attributes of transference, (a) the seemingly loose
connection between stimulus and reaction, and (b) the child-
to their origins, to infantile
ishness, would lead us, if followed
sexuality.
Before ending would like to enumerate some of the important
I

problems which have had to leave out: the qualitative study of

I
the transferred feelings and emotions which leads to problems
of trans-
of the psychology of instincts. The cultural function
which is no longer a purely psychological problem. Next
ference,
the difference between conscious and unconscious transference,
and the difference between individual and cultural (mass) trans-
ference, which would lead to the problem of repression, to very
interesting problems of ego-psychology
and the question of the
interrelations between culture and the individual. Then
trans-

ference as one of the main factors of psycho-analytic treatment,

a purely technical problem; and last but not least transference as
one form, maybe the only true form, of manifestations of the
unconscious mind.
With this enumeration I wanted to demonstrate that trans-
ference is a very intricate subject, not at all as simple as shown
in this lecture.

Anyhow, I am at the end. We have seen that transference is

a general feature of human

life, everybody always transferring
is

his emotions to everybody within his reach. It is impossible to

if the object of transference
get a clear, understandable situation,
is a second human being, because (a) the second person will

react to the transferred feeling and (b) he too will try to transfer
his un-abreacted emotions on to the The only way to see
first.

clearly is what I called of working, namely the

the "sterile" way
elastic, tactful passivity, the complete mastering of the analyst's
own transference.
 29

JANET MACKENZIE RIOCH

The Transference Phenomenon

in Psychoanalytic Therapy*

The significance of the transference phenomenon impressed

Freud so profoundly that he continued through the years to
develop his ideas about it. His classical observations on the
patient Dora formed the basis for his first formulations of this
concept. He says, "What are transferences? They are the new
editions or facsimiles of the tendencies and phantasies which
are aroused and made conscious during the progress of the
analysis; but they have this peculiarity, which is characteristic for
their species, that they replace some earlier person by the per-
son of the physician. To put it another way: a whole series of
psychological experiences are revived, not as belonging to the
past, but as applying to the person of the physician at the present
moment." *

According to Freud's view, the process of psychoanalytic cure

depends mainly upon the patient's ability to remember that which
is forgotten and repressed, and thus to gain conviction that

the analytical conclusions arrived at are correct. However, "the

unconscious feelings strive to avoid the recognition which the

* the Advancement
An address presented before the Association for of"

Psychoanalysis,23 March 1943. Reprinted by special permission of The

William Alanson White Psychiatric Foundation, Inc., and Patrick Mullahy
from A Study of Interpersonal Relations edited by Patrick Mullahy and pub-
lished by Hermitage House, Inc., New York. Copyright, 1949, by Hermitage
Press, Inc. in Psychiatry, 1943, 6:147-156.)
(Originally published
1
Freud, Sigmund, Collected Papers; London, Hogarth (1933) 3:139.
485
486 Janet Mackenzie Rioch

2
cure demands"; they seek instead, emotional discharge, regard-
lessof the reality of the situation.
Freud believed that these unconscious feelings which the
patient strives to hide are made up of that part of the libidinal
impulse which has turned away from consciousness and reality,
due the frustration of a desired gratification. Because the
to
attraction of reality has weakened, the libidinal energy is still
maintained in a state of regression attached to the original in-
fantile sexual objects, although the reasons for the recoil from
3
reality have disappeared.
Freud states that in the analytic treatment, the analyst pur-
sues this part of the libido to its hiding place, "aiming always at
unearthing it, making it accessible to consciousness and at last
serviceable to reality." 3 The patient tries to achieve an emo-
tional discharge of this libidinal energy under the pressure of
the compulsion to repeat experiences over and over again rather
than to become conscious of their origin. He uses the method
of transferring to the person of the physician past psychological
experiences and reacting to this, at times, with all the power of
hallucination. 2 The patient vehemently insists that his impression
of the analyst is true for the immediate present, in this way avoid-
ing the recognition of his own unconscious impulses.
Thus, Freud regarded the transference-manifestations as a
major problem of the resistance. However, Freud says, "It must
not be forgotten that they (the transference-manifestations) and
they only, render the invaluable service of making the patient's
buried and forgotten love-emotions actual and manifest." 4
Freud regards the transference-manifestations as having two
general aspects positive and negative. The negative, he at first

regarded as having no value in psychoanalytic cure and only

5
something to be "raised" into consciousness to avoid inter-
ference with the progress of the analysis. He later 6 accorded it
a place of importance in the therapeutic experience. The positive
transference he considered to be ultimately sexual in origin, since
2 Reference footnote 1; 2:321.
8
Reference footnote 1; 2:316.
4
Reference footnote 1; p. 322.
E
Reference footnote 1; p. 319.
8
Freud, Sigmund, Gesammelte Weike; London, Imago (1940) 12:223.
The Transference Phenomenon in Psychoanalytic Therapy 487

Freud says,"To begin with, we knew none but sexual objects." 5

However, he divides the positive transference into two com-
ponents one, the repressed erotic component, which is used in
the service of resistance; the other, the friendly and affectionate
component, which, although originally sexual, is the "unobjec-
tionable" aspect of the positive transference, and is that which
"brings about the successful result in psycho-analysis, as in all
other remedial methods." 5 Freud refers here to the element
of suggestion in psychoanalytic therapy, about which I wish to
speak in detail a little later on.
At the moment, I should like to state that, although not agree-
ing with the view of Freud that human behavior depends ulti-
mately on the biological sexual drives, I believe that it would be
a mistake to deny the value and importance of his formulations
regarding transference phenomena. As I shall indicate shortly, I
differ on certain points with Freud, but I do not differ with the
formulation that early impressions acquired during childhood
are revived in the analytical situation, and are felt as immediate
and real that they form potentially the greatest obstacles to
analysis, if unnoticed and, as Freud puts it, the greatest ally of
the analysis when understood. I agree that the main work of
the analysis consists in analyzing the transference phenomena,
although I differ somewhat as to how this results in cure. It is my
conviction that the transference is a strictly interpersonal experi-
ence. Freud gives the impression that under the stress of the
repetition-compulsion the patient is bound to repeat the identical
pattern, regardless of the other person. I believe that the person-
ality of the analyst tends to determine the character of the trans-
ference illusions, and especially to determine whether the attempt
at analysis will result in cure. Horney 7 has shown that there is
no valid reason for assuming that the tendency to repeat past
experiences again and again has an instinctual basis. The particu-
lar character structure of the person requires that he integrate
with any given situation according to the necessities of his char-
acter structure.
In discussing my own views regarding the transference and

7
Horney, Karen, New Ways in Psychoanalysis; New York, Norton, 1959
(313 pp.).
488 Janet Mackenzie Rioch

its use in therapy, it is necessary to begin at the beginning, and

to point out in a very schematic way how a person acquires his

particular orientation to himself and the world which one might

call his character structure, and the implications of this in psy-
choanalytic therapy.
The infant is born without a frame of reference, as far as
interpersonal experience goes. He is already acquainted with
the feeling of bodily movement with sucking and swallowing
but, among other things, he has had no knowledge of the exist-
ence of another person in relationship to himself. Although I
do not wish to draw any particular conclusions from this analogy,
8
I want to mention a simple phenomenon, described by Sherif,
connected with the problem of the frame of reference. If you
have a completely dark room, with no possibility of any light
being seen, and you then turn on a small-pin-point of light, which
is kept stationary, this light will soon appear to be moving about.

I am sure a good many of you have noticed this phenomenon

when gazing at a single star. The light seems to move, and it

does so, apparently, because there is no reference point in relation
to which one can establish it at a fixed place in space. It just
wanders around. If, however, one can at the same time see some
other fixed object in the room, the light immediately becomes
stationary. A
reference point has been established, and there is
no longer any uncertainty, any vague wandering of the spot of
light. It is fixed. The pin-point of light wandering in the dark
room is symbolic of the original attitude of the person to himself,
undetermined, unstructured, with no reference points.
The new-born infant probably perceives everything in a vague
and uncertain way, including himself. Gradually, reference points
are established; a connection begins to occur between hunger
and breast, between a relief of bladder tension and a wet diaper,
between playing with his genitals and a smack on the hand. The
physical boundaries and potentialities of the self are explored.
One can observe the baby investigating the extent, shape and
potentialities of his own body. He finds that he can scream and
mother will come, or will not come, that he can hold his breath
8
Sherif, Muzafer A. F., The Psychology of Social Norms; New York,
Harper, 1936 (xii and 210 pp.).
The Transference Phenomenon in Psychoanalytic Therapy 489

and everyone will get excited, that he can smile and coo and
people will be enchanted, or just the opposite. The nature of
the emotional reference points that he determines depends upon
the environment. By that still unknown quality called "empathy,"
he discovers the reference points which help to determine his
emotional attitude toward himself. If his mother did not want
him, disgusted with him, treats him with utter disregard, he
is

comes look upon himself as a thing-to-be-disregarded. With

to
the profound human drive to make this rational, he gradually
builds up a system of "reasons why." Underneath all these "rea-
sons," a basic sense of worthlessness, undetermined and un-
is

defined, related directly to the original reference frame. Another

child discovers that the state of being regarded is dependent upon
specific factors all is well as long as one does not act spon-
taneously, as long as one is not a separate person, as long as one
is good, as the state of being good is continuously defined by

the parents. Under these conditions, and these only, this child
can feel a sense of self-regard.
Other people are encountered with the original reference frame
in mind. The child tends to carry over into later situations the
patterns he first learned to know. The rigidity with which these
original patterns are retained depends upon the nature of the
child's experience. If this has been of a traumatic character so
that spontaneity has been blocked and further emotional de-
velopment has been inhibited, the original orientation will tend
to persist. Discrepancies may be rationalized or repressed. Thus,
the original impression of the hostile mother may be retained,
while the contact with the new person is rationalized to fit the
original reference frame. The new person encountered acts dif-
ferently, but probably that is just a pose. She is just being nice
because she does not know me. If she really knew me, she
would act differently. Or, the original impressions are so out
of line with the present actuality, that they remain unconscious,
but make themselves apparent in inappropriate behavior or at-
titudes, which remain outside the awareness of the person con-
cerned.
The incongruity of the behavior pattern, or of the attitude,
may be a source of astonishment to the other person involved,
490 Janet Mackenzie Rioch

Sullivan 9 provides insight into the process by the elucidation of

what he calls the "parataxic distortions." He points out that in
the development of the personality, certain integrative patterns
are organizedin response to the important persons in the child's

past. There is a "self-in-relation-to-A" pattern, or "self-in-rela-

tion-to-B" pattern. These patterns of response become familiar
and useful. The person learns to get along as a "self-in-relation-
to A" or B, C and D, depending on the number of important

people to whom he had to adjust in the

course of his early

development. For example, a young girl, who had a severely

dominating mother and a weak, kindly father, learned a pattern
of adjustment to her mother which could be briefly described as
submissive, mildly rebellious in a secret way, but mostly lacking
in spontaneity. Toward the father she developed a loving, but

contemptuous attitude. When

she encountered other people, re-
of sex, she oriented herself to them partly as the real
gardless
people they were, and partly as she had
learned to respond to
her mother and father in her past. She thus was feeling toward
the real person involved as if she were dealing with two people
at once. However, since it is very necessary for people to behave
as rational persons she suppressed the knowledge that some of
her reactions were inappropriate to the immediate situation, and
wove an intricate mesh of rationalizations, which permitted her
to believe that the person with whom she was dealing really was
someone either to be feared and submitted to, as her mother,
or to be contemptuous of, as her father. The more nearly the
real person fitted the original picture of the mother and father,
the easier it was for her to maintain that the original "self-in-
relation-toA or B" was the real and valid expression of herself.
happened, however, that this girl had had a kindly nurse
It

who was not a weak person, although occupying an inferior

position in the household. During the many
hours when she
was with she was able to experience a great deal
this nurse,
of unreserved warmth, and of freedom for self-realization. No
demands for emotional conformity were made on her in this
relationship. Her own capacities for love and spontaneous ac-
9
Sullivan, Harry Stack, Conceptions of Modern Psychiatry. PSYCHIATRY
(1940) 3:1-117.
The Transference Phenomenon in Psychoanalytic Therapy 491

tivity were able to flourish. Unfortunately, the contact with this

nurse was ail too brief. But there remained, despite the necessity
for the rigid development of the
patterns towards the mother
and father, a deeply repressed, but still vital experience of self,
which most closely approximated the fullest realization of her
potentialities. This, which one might call her real self, although
"snowed under" and handicapped by all the distortions incurred
by her relationship to the parents, was finally able to emerge and
become again active in analysis. In the course of this treatment,
she learned how much her reactions to people were "transfer-
ence" reactions, or as Sullivan would say, "parataxic distortions."
I have deliberately tried to schematize this illustration. For

instance, when I speak of the early frame of reference and then

just mention the parents, I do not overlook all the other possible
reference frames. Also, one has to realize that one pattern con-
nects with another the whole making a tangled mass that only
years of analysis can unscramble. I also have not taken the time
to outline the compensatory drives that the neurotic person has
to develop in order to handle his life situation. Each compen-
satory manoeuvre causes some change in his frame of reference,
since the development of a defensive trait in his personality sets
off a new set of relationships to those around him. The little
child who grows more and more negativistic, because of injuries
and frustrations, evokes more and more hostility in his environ-
jnent. However, and this is important, the basic reactions of

hostility on the part of the parents, which originally induced his

negativism, are still there. Thus, the pattern does not change
much in character it just gets worse in the same direction.
Those persons whose later life experience perpetuate the original
frames of reference, are more severely injured. A
young child,
who has a hostile mother, may then have a hostile teacher. If,
by good luck, he got a kind teacher and if his own attitude was
not already badly warped, so that he did not induce hostility
in this kind teacher, he would be introduced into a startlingly
new and pleasant frame of reference, and his personality might
not suffer too greatly, especially if a kindly aunt or uncle hap-
pened to be around. I am sure that if the details of the life

histories of healthy people were studied, it would be found that

492 Janet Mackenzie Rioch

they had had some very satisfactory experiences early enough

to establish in them a feeling of validity as persons. The pro-
foundly sick people have been so early injured, in such a rigid
and limited frame of reference, that they are not able to make
use of kindliness, decency or regard when it does come their
way. They meet the world as if it were potentially menacing.
They have already developed defensive traits entirely appropriate
to their original experience, and then carry them out in com-

pletely inappropriate situations, rationalizing the discrepancies,

but never daring to believe that people are different to the ones
they early learned to distrust and hate. By reason of bitter early
experience, they learn never to let their guards down, never to
permit intimacy, lest at that moment the death blow would be
dealt to their already partly destroyed sense of self-regard. De-

spairing of real joy in living, they develop secondary neurotic

goals which give a pseudo-satisfaction. The secondary gains at
firstglance might seem to be what the person was really striving
for revenge, power and exclusive possession. Actually, these are
but the expressions of the deep injuries sustained by the person.
They can not be fundamentally cured until those interpersonal
relationships which caused the brought back
original injury are
by step, each
to consciousness in the analytical situation. Step

phase of the long period of emotional development is exposed,

by no means chronologically; the interconnecting, overlapping
reference frames are made conscious; those points at which a
distortion of reality, or a repression of part of the self had to

occur, are uncovered. The reality gradually becomes "undis-

torted," the self, re-found, in the personal relationship between
the analyst and the patient. This personal relationship with the
analyst is the situation in which the transference distortions can
be analyzed.
In Freud's view, the transference was either positive or nega-
tive, and was related in a rather isolated way to a particular

person in the past. In my view, the transference is the experi-

encing in the analytic situation the entire pattern of the original

reference frames, which included at every moment the relation-
ship of the patient to himself, to the important persons, and to
The Transference Phenomenon in Psychoanalytic Therapy 491

others, as he experienced them at that time, in the light of his

interrelationships with the important people.

The therapeutic aim in this process is not to uncover child-
hood memories which will then lend themselves to analytic
interpretation. Here, I think, is an important difference to Freud's
view. Fromm 10 has pointed this out in a recent lecture. Psycho-
analytic cure is not the amassing of data, either Lr om childhood,
or from the study of the present situation. Nor does cure result
from a repetition of the original injurious experience in the ana-
lytical relationship. What is curative in the process is that in

tending to reconstruct with the analyst that atmosphere which

obtained in childhood, the patient actually achieves something
new. He discovers that part of himself which had to be repressed
at the time of the original experience. He can only do this in an
interpersonal relationship with the analyst, which is suitable to
such a re-discovery. To illustrate this point: if a patient had a
hostile parent towards whom he was required to show deference,
he would have to repress certain of his own spontaneous feelings.
In the analytical situation, he tends to carry over his original
frame of reference and again tends to feel himself to be in a
similar situation. If the analyst's personality also contains ele-
ments of a need for deference, that need will unconsciously be
imparted to the patient, who will, therefore, still repress his
spontaneity as he did before. True enough, he may act or try
to act as if analyzed, since by definition, that is what the analyst
is attempting to accomplish. But he will never have found his

repressed self,because the analytical relationship contains for

him elements actually identical with his original situation. Only
if the analyst provides a genuinely new frame of reference that
is, if he is truly non-hostile, and truly
not in need of deference
can this patient discover, and it is a real discovery, the repressed
elements of his own personality. Thus, the transference phe-
nomenon is used so that the patient will completely reexperience
the original frames of reference, and himself within those frames,
ill a truly different relationship with the analyst, to the end that
10
Fromm, Erich, Lectures on Ideas and Ideologies presented at the New
School for Social Research, N.Y.C, 1943.
494 Janet Mackenzie Rioch

he can discover the invalidity of his conclusions about himself

and others.
I do not mean by this to deny the correctness of Freud's view
of transference also acting as a resistance. As a matter of fact,
the tendency of the patient to re-establish the original reference
frame is precisely because he is afraid to experience the other
person in a direct and unreserved way. He has organized his
whole system of getting along in the world, bad as that system
might be, on the basis of the original distortions of his personality
and his subsequent vicissitudes. His capacity for spontaneous
feeling and acting has gone into hiding. Now it has to be sought.
If some such phrase as the "capacity for self-realization" be
substituted in place of Freud's concept of the repressed libidinal

impulse, much the same conclusions can be reached about the

in which the transference-manifestations appear in the anal-
way
ysis as resistance. It is just in the safest situation, where the
spontaneous feeling might come out of hiding, that the patient
develops intense feelings, sometimes of a hallucinatory character,
that relate to the most dreaded experiences of the past. It is at
this point that the nature and the use by the patient of the trans-
ference distortions have to be understood and correctly inter-
of the
preted, by the analyst. It is also here that the personality
analyst modifies the transference reaction. A
patient cannot feel
close to a detached or hostile analyst and will therefore never dis-

play the full intensity of his transference illusions.

The complexity
of this process, whereby the transference can be used as the
therapeutic instrument and, at the same time, as
a resistance may
be illustrated by the following example: a patient had developed
intense feelings of attachment to a father surrogate in his every-
day life. The transference feelings towards this man were
of great
value in elucidating his original problems with his real father.
As the patient became more and more aware of his own personal
validity, he found this masochistic attachment
to be weakening.
This occasioned acute feelings of anxiety, since his sense of
independence was not yet fully established. At that point, he
developed very disturbing feelings regarding the analyst, believ-
ing that she was untrustworthy and hostile, although prior
to
re-
this, he had succeeded in establishing a realistically positive
The Transference Phenomenon in Psychoanalytic Therapy 495

lationship to her. The feelings of untrustworthiness precisely

reproduced an ancient pattern with his mother. He experienced
them at this particular point in the analysis in order to retain
and to justify his attachment to the father figure, the weakening
of which attachment had threatened him so profoundly. The
entire pattern was elucidated when it was seen that he was

reexperiencing an ancient triangle, in which he was continuously

driven to a submissive attachment to a dominating father, due to
the utter untrustworthiness of hisweak mother. If the transfer-
ence character of this sudden feeling of untrustworthiness of the
analyst had not been clarified, he would have turned again sub-
missively to his father surrogate, which would have further post-
poned development of independence. Nevertheless, the de-
his

velopment of this transference to the analyst brought to light a

new insight.
I wish to make one remark about Freud's view of the so-called
narcissistic neuroses. Freud felt that personality disorders called

schizophrenia or paranoia cannot be analyzed because the patient

is unable to develop a transference to the analyst. It is my view

that the real difficulty in treating such disorders is that the rela-
tionship is essentially nothing but transference illusions. Such
persons hallucinate the original frame of reference to the ex-
clusion of reality. Nowhere in the realm of psychoanalysis can
one find more complete proof of the effect of early experience
on the person than in attempting to treat these patients. Frieda
Fromm-Reichmann 11 has shown in her work with schizophrenics
the necessity to realize the intensity of the transference reactions,
which have become almost completely real to the patient. And
yet, ifone knows the correct interpretations, by actually feeling
the patient's needs, one can over years of time do the identical
thing which is accomplished more quickly and less dramatically
with patients suffering a less severe disturbance of their inter-
personal relationships.
Another point which I wish to discuss for a moment is the

following:
Freud takes the position that all subsequent experience in
II
Fromm-Reichmann, Frieda, Transference Problems in Schizophrenics,
Psychoanalytic Quart. (1939) 8:412-426.
496 Janet Mackenzie Rioch

normal life is merely a repetition of the original one. 12 Thus love

isexperienced for someone today in terms of the love felt for
someone in the past. I do not believe this to be exactly true.
The child who has not had to repress certain aspects of his
personality enters into a new situation dynamically, not just as
a repetition of what he felt, say, with his mother, but as an
active continuation of it. I believe that there are constitutional
differences with respect to the total capacity for emotional experi-
ence, just as there are with respect to the total capacity for
intellectual experiences.Given this constitutional substrate, the
child engages in personal relationships not passively as a lump of
clay waiting to be molded, but most dynamically, bringing into
play all his emotional potentialities. He may possibly find some-

one later whose capacity for response is deeper than his mother's.
If he is capable of that greater depth, he experiences an ex-

pansion of himself. Many later in life have met a "great" person

and have felt a sense of newness in the relationship which is
described to others as "wonderful" and which is regarded with
a certain amount of awe. This is not a "transference" experience,
but represents a dynamic extension of the self to a new horizon.
In considering the process of psychoanalytic cure, Freud very
seriously discussed the relationship of analysis to suggestion
therapy and hypnosis. He believed as I previously mentioned that
part of the positive transference could be made use of in the
analysis to bring about the successful result. He says, "In so far
we readily admit that the results of psychoanalysis rest upon a
basis of suggestion; only by suggestion we must be understood to
mean thatwhich we, with Ferenczi, find that it consists of
influence on a person through and by means of the transference
manifestations of which he is capable. The eventual inde-
pendence of the patient is our ultimate object when we use
suggestion to bring him to carry out a mental operation that
will necessarily result in a lasting improvement in his mental
condition." 12 Freud elsewhere indicates very clearly that in
hypnosis, the relationship of the patient to the hypnotist is not
worked through, whereas in analysis the transference to the
analyst is resolved by bringing it entirely into consciousness. He
M Reference footnote 1; p. 387.
The Transference Phenomenon in Psychoanalytic Therapy 497

also says that the patient is protected from the unwitting sug-

gestive influence of the analysts by the awakening of his own

unconscious resistances. 13
I should like to discuss hypnosis a little more in detail and to

make a few remarks about its correlation with the transference

phenomenon in psychoanalytic therapy.
According to White, 14 the subject under hypnosis is a person

striving to act like a hypnotized person as that state is continu-

ously defined by the hypnotist. He also says that the state of
being hypnotized is an "altered state of consciousness." How-
ever, as Maslow 15 points out, it is not an abnormal state. In
everyday life transient manifestations of all the phenomena that
occur in hypnosis can be seen. Such examples are cited as the
trance-like state a person experiences when completely occupied
with an absorbing book. Among the phenomena of the hypnotic
state are the amnesia for the trance; the development of certain
anesthesias, such as insensitivity to pain; deafness to sounds other
than the hypnotist's voice; greater ability to recall forgotten
events; loss of capacity to spontaneously initiate activities; and
a much greater suggestibility. This heightened suggestibility in
the trance state is the most important phenomenon of hypnosis.
Changes in behavior and feeling can be induced, such as painful
or pleasant experiences, headaches, nausea, or feelings of well-
being. Post-hypnotic behavior can be influenced by suggestion,
this being one of the most important aspects of experimental

hypnosis for the clarifying of psychopathological problems.

The hypnotic state is induced by a combination of methods
which may include relaxation, visual concentration and verbal
suggestion. The methods vary with
the personality of the ex-

perimenter and the subject.

Maslow has pointed out the interpersonal character of hypno-
sis, which accounts for
some of the different conclusions by
different experimenters. Roughly, the types of experimenters may
be divided into three groups the dominant type, the friendly
^Reference footnote 6; p. 226.
Abnormal
14
White, Robert W., A Preface to the Theory of Hypnotism. J.
and Social Psycho! (1941) 36:477-505.
Maslow, A. H., and Mittelmann, Bela, Principles of Abnormal Psychology;
15

New York, Harper, 1941.

498 Janet Mackenzie Rioch

or brotherly type, and the cold, detached, scientific type. Accord-

Ing to the inner needs of the subject, he will be able to be
hypnotized more readily by one type or the other. The brotherly
hypnotizer cannot, for instance, hypnotize a subject whose inner
need is to be dominated.
Freud 16 believed that the relationship of the subject to the
hypnotist was that of an emotional, erotic attachment. He com-
ments on the "uncanny" character of hypnosis and says that
"the hypnotist awakens in the subject a portion of his archaic
inheritance which had also made him compliant to his parents."
What is thus awakened is the concept of "the dreaded primal
father," "towards whom only a passive-masochistic attitude is

possible, towards whom one's will has to be surrendered."

Ferenczi 17 considered the hypnotic state to be one in which
the patient transferred onto the hypnotist his early infantile
erotic attachment to the parents with the same tendency to blind
belief and to uncritical obedience as obtained then. He calls

attention to the paternal or frightening type of hypnosis and

the maternal or gentle, stroking type. In both instances the
situation tends to favour the "conscious and unconscious im-
aginary return to childhood."
The only point of disagreement with these views that I have is

that one does not need to postulate an erotic attachment to the

hypnotist or a "transference" of infantile sexual wishes. The
sole necessity is a willingness to surrender oneself. The child
whose parent wished to control it, by one way or another, is

forced to do order to be loved, or at least to be taken

this, in

care of. The patient transfers this willingness to surrender to the

18 He will also transfer it to the
hypnotist. analyst or to the leader
of a group. In any one of these situations the authoritative per-

son, be he hypnotist, analyst or leader, promises by reason of

great power or knowledge the assurance of safety, cure or hap-
piness, as the case may be. The patient, or the isolated person,

Freud, Sigmund, Group Psychology and the Analysis

16 of the Ego; London,
The International Psycho-Analytical Press, 1922 (134 pp.).
Ferenczi, Sandor, Sex in Psycho-Analysis; Boston, Badger, 1916 (338 pp.)
17

in particular, Introjection and Transference.

1 am indebted to Erich Fronim for suggestions in the following discussion.
18
The Transference Phenomenon in Psychoanalytic Therapy 499

regresses emotionally to a state of helplessness and lack of initia-

tive similar to the child who has been dominated.
If it be asked how in the first place the child is brought into
a state of submissiveness, it may be discovered that the original
situation of the child had certain aspects which already resemble
a hypnotic situation. This depends upon the parents. If they are
destructive or authoritarian they can achieve long lasting results.
The child is how and what
continuously subjected to being told
he is. Day in and day frame of reference of
out, in the limited
his home, he is subjected to the repetition, over and over again:
"You are a naughty boy." "You are a bad girl." "You are just a
nuisance." "You are always giving me trouble." "You are dumb,"
"you are stupid," "you are a little fool." "You always make mis-
takes." "You can never do anything right," or, "That's right; I
love you when you are a good boy." "That's the kind of boy I
like.""Now you are a nice boy." "Smile sweetly." "Pay attention
to mother." "Mother loves a good boy who does what she tells
him." "Mother knows best, mother always knows best." "If you
would listen to mother, you would get along all right. Just listen
,to her." "Don'tpay attention to those naughty children. Just
listen to your mother."
Over and over again, with exhortations to pay attention, to
listen, to be good, the child is brought under the spell. "When

you get older, never forget what I told you. Always remember
what mother says, then you will never get into trouble." These
are like post-hypnotic suggestions. "You will never come to a
good end. You will always be in trouble." "If you are not good,
you will always be unhappy." "If you don't do what I say, you
will regret it." "If you do not live up to the right things again,
'right' as continuously defined by the mother you will be sorry."
It was called to my attention that the Papago Indians de-

liberately make use of a certain method of suggestion to influ-

ence the child favorably. When the child is falling asleep at night
the grandfather sitsby him and repeats over and over "You
will be a fast runner. You will be a good hunter." 19

1&
Underbill, Ruth, Social Organization of the Papago Indians [Columbia
University Contributions to Anthropology: Vol. 30]; New York, Columbia
University Press, 1939 (ix and 280 pp.).
500 Janet Mackenzie Rioch

indicate that chil- 20

Hypnotic experiments, according to Hull,
dren, on the whole, are more susceptible than adults. Certainly,
for many reasons, including that of learning the uses and mis-
uses of language, there is a marked rise of verbal suggestibility
up to five years, with a sharp dropping off at around the eighth
year. Ferenczi refers to the subsequent effects of threats or orders
given in childhood as "having much in common with the post-
hypnotic command-automatisms." He points out how the neu-
rotic patient follows out, without being able to explain the motive,
a command repressed long ago, just as in hypnosis a post-hypnotic
suggestion is carried out for which amnesia has been produced.
It is not my intention in this paper to try to explain the altered
which is seen in the hypnotized subject.
state of consciousness I

have had no personal experience with hypnosis. The reason I

refer to hypnosis in discussing the transference is in order to fur-
ther an understanding of the analytic relationship. The child may
be regarded as being in a state of "chronic hypnosis," as I have
described, with all sorts of post-hypnotic suggestions thrown in
during this period. This entire pattern this entire early frame
of reference may be "transferred" to the analyst. When this
has happened the patient is in a highly suggestible state. Due to
a number of intrinsic and extrinsic factors, the analyst is now
in the position of a sort of "chronic hypnotist." First, by reason
of his position of a doctor he has a certain prestige. Second, the
patient comes to him, even if expressedly unwillingly; still if there
were not something in the patient which was cooperative he
would not come at all, or at least he would not stay. The office is

relatively quiet, external stimuli relatively reduced. The frame

of reference is limited. Many analysts maintain an anonymity
about themselves. The attention is focussed on the interpersonal
relationship. In this relatively undefined and unstructured field
the patient is able to discover his "transference" feelings, since
he has few reference points in the analytical situation to go by.
This is greatly enhanced by having the patient assume a physical

position in the room whereby he does not see the analyst. Thus
the ordinary reference points of facial expression and gesture are
80
Hull, Clark L., Hypnosis and Suggestibility; New York, Appleton-Century,
1933 (xii and 416 pp.).
The Transference Phenomenon in Psychoanalytic Therapy 501

lacking. True enough, he can look around or get up and walk

about. But for considerable periods of time he lies down itselL

a symbolically submissive position. He does what is called "free

association." This is again giving up willingly, to be sure the
conscious control of his thoughts. I want to stress the willingness
and cooperativeness of all these acts. That is precisely the neces-
sary condition for hypnosis. The lack of immediate reference
points permits the eruption into consciousness of the old patterns
of feeling. The original frame of reference becomes more and
more clearly outlined and felt. The power which the parent

originally had to cast the spell is transferred to the analytical situ-

ation. Now the analyst who is in the position to do the same
it is

thing placed there partly by the nature of the external situation,

partly by the patient who comes to be freed from his suffering.
There is no such thing as an impersonal analyst, nor is the idea
of the analyst's acting as a mirror anything more than the "neat-
est trick of the week." Whether intentionally or not, whether con-
scious of it or not, the analyst does express, day in and day out,

subtle or overt evidences of his own personality in relationship

to the patient.
The analyst may express explicitly his wish not to be coercive,
but he has an unconscious wish to control the patient, it is
if

impossible for him correctly to analyze and to resolve the trans-

ference distortions. The patient is thus not able to become free
from and for lack of something better,
his original difficulties

adopts the analyst as a new and less dangerous authority. Then

the situation occurs in which it is not "my mother says" or "my

father says," but now "my analyst says." The so-called chronic

patients who need lifelong

support may benefit by such a rela-
tionship. I am of the opinion, however, that frequently the long-
continued unconscious attachment by which I do not mean
genuine affection or regard is maintained because of a failure
on the analyst's part to recognize and resolve the sense of being
under a sort of hypnotic spell which originated in childhood.
To develop an adequate therapeutic interpersonal relationship,
the analyst must be devoid of those personal traits which tend to
unconsciously perpetuate the originally destructive or authorita-
tive situation. In addition to this, he must be able, by reason of
 02 Janet Mackenzie Rioch

his training, to be aware of every evidence of the transference

phenomena; and he must understand the significance of
lastly,
the hypnotic-like situation which analysis helps to reproduce. If,
with the best of intentions, he unwittingly makes use of the enor-
mous power with which he is endowed by the patient, he may
certainly achieve something that looks like change. His sugges-
tions, exhortations and pronouncements, based on the patient's
revelation of himself, may certainly make an impression. The
analyst may say, "You must not do this just because I say so."
That is in itself a sort of post-hypnotic command. The patient
then strives to be "an analyzed person acting on his own account"
because he was told to do so. He is still not really acting on his
own.
It is my firm conviction that analysis is terminable. A person
can continue togrow and expand all his life. The process of
analysis, however, as an interpersonal experience, has a definite
end. That end is achieved when the patient has rediscovered his
self as an actively and independently functioning en til y.
 30

THOMAS M. FRENCH
The Transference Phenomenon*

Although it is agreed that the central dynamic problem in psycho-

analytic therapy is the handling of transference, there is a great
deal of confusion as to what "transference" really means. The
term, in psychoanalytic as well as in general literature, has under-
gone the fate of most popular terms and is often used to refer
indiscriminately to many things not included in Freud's original
concept. The sense of the word has been loosely extended to
include everything from the "transference neurosis" proper, to
the "emotional relationship existing between patient and analyst,"
to the "treatment situation as a whole."
As Freud originally used the term, however, its sense was much
more restricted. By "transference" Freud meant reactions to the
analyst as though he were not himself but some person in the
patient's past. According to this definition, a patient's transference
to the analyst is only that part of the patient's reaction to the

analyst which repeats the patient's reactions to a person who has,

at some previous time, played an important role in the patient's
life.

Reality Testing. It is important to distinguish between such

transference reactions and reactions that are adequate to the pres-

ent real situation. A
patient does not react to the therapist only
as though the therapist were somebody else, only as though he
were some important figure in the patient's past. Sometimes he
*
Reprinted by permission from Psycho-Analytic Therapy, by Franz
Alexander and Thomas Morton French. Copyright 1946 The Ronald Pre
Company.
503
5(>4 Thomas M. French
reacts quite naturally to what the therapist actually does or says,
to the therapist's actual personality characteristics and behavior.
In actual therapeutic practice, this distinction is of the great-
est practical importance. Especially in the later stages of a psy-
choanalytic treatment, one of our most important therapeutic
tasks is to help the patient distinguish neurotic transference reac-
tions (that are based upon a repetition of earlier stereotyped pat-
terns) from normal reactions to the analyst and to the therapeutic
situation as a present reality. It is a fundamental part of all psy-

chotherapy to teach the patient that his neurotic reactions are

in accord with old, outmoded patterns, that they are anachronis-
tic, and to help him acquire new ways of reacting that conform
more closely to the new situations. This is the part of the therapy
we call "reality testing."
This concept of reality testing seems to imply a contrast be-
tween transference reactions and reality adjusted behavior, that
these terms are mutually exclusive. On the other hand, it is clear
that all behavior is patterned past, is based on experi-
upon the
ence. If we based our concept of transference on this fact alone,
it would have to include all of the patient's emotional reactions
to the therapist, for they are all presumably based upon some
pattern from the past. The only distinction left, then, is that in
reality adjustedbehavior the patterns from the past have been
modified to take adequate account of the diiferences between
present reality and the situations in the past upon which they are
based.
When we use the word "transference" in this strict sense, we
mean an of stereotyped reaction patterns
irrational repetition
which have not been adjusted to conform to the present situation.
In the psychoanalytic literature we have another term which has
always been used in this more precise sense, the "transference
neurosis." In the transference neurosis we include only such repe-
titions of earlier reaction patterns as are neurotic, i.e., only those
that are irrational or inappropriate in the present real therapeutic
situation. The concepts "transference neurosis" and "reality ad-

justed behavior" are truly, therefore, mutually exclusive, just as

the more general concept "neurosis" is quite incompatible with
that of reality adjusted behavior.
The Transference Phenomenon 505

Definitions. We may summarize the preceding discussion in

the form of a few definitions:
In its widest sense, as we here use the word, transference is
the exact repetition of any former reaction without adjusting it
to fit the present situation. In a more specific sense, transference
is the neurotic repetition with relation to the analyst of a stereo-
typed, unsuitable behavior pattern based on the patient's past. It
is in this latter sense that the word is most frequently used in this

book. The transference "relationship," then, is that relationship

which obtains within the therapeutic situation wherein the thera-
pist is indeed the representative of a figure of importance from
out the patient's past.
When defined in this way, the transference relationship be-
comes identical with the transference "neurosis" except that tran-
sient neurotic transference reactions are not usually dignified
with the name of "transference neurosis." Thus the transference
"neurosis" may be defined as that mass of stereotyped neurotic
behavior patterns (evidenced in the analytic situation) which
are based on the past and do not take into account the differences
between the past and the present. In contrast, we have "reality
adjusted behavior," which we define as behavior in which patterns
based upon past experience have been corrected to take adequate
account of the differences between the present and the past.
If we wish to make our terminology more complete, it will be

helpful to take account of still another possibility. Sometimes the

real therapeutic situation is not significantly different from a situ-
ation in the past to which one of the patient's stereotyped trans-
ference patterns was adequate. For example, it is a quite adequate
reaction to the therapy for the patient to turn to the therapist for
help. Consequently, in the therapeutic situation, a stereotyped
pattern of dependence upon parental figures may for a long time
be a quite adequate reaction to the therapeutic situation. In such
a case it will not be immediately evident that this reaction is a
stereotyped one that cannot be modified to take adequate account
of the differences between present and past.
If the therapeutic situation later changes, however, so that this
reaction pattern is no longer adequate, its stereotyped character
will immediately become evident. For example, if the therapeutic
506 Thomas M. French

situation later requires that the therapist attempt to wean the

patient from his dependence upon him, an energetic protest

against this weaning process may reveal the fact that the patient's

dependence is a stereotyped pattern that persists even after the

demands that he emancipate himself. Such
therapeutic situation
an apparently adequate reaction to the therapeutic situation, that
shows its inadequate and stereotyped character only when the
situation changes, we may call a "latent transference reaction."

Neurosis the Result of Interrupted Learning Process. In order

to give explicit recognition to this distinction between normal and
neurotic reactions, it is helpful to think of the function of therapy
as one of facilitating a learning process. (This is in accord with
a suggestion of Freud's who once referred to the psychoanalytic
treatment as a process of reeducation.) Let us consider more in
detail the nature of the difference between a neurosis and reality

adjusted behavior.
We have pointed out that all behavior is based upon past ex-
from the
perience. In normal development, however, patterns
past undergo progressive modification.
One learns from experi-
ence by correcting earlier patterns in the light of later events.
When a problem becomes too disturbing to face, however, this
learning process is interrupted and subsequent attempts
to solve

this problem must, therefore, assume the character of stereotyped

repetitionsof previous unsuccessful attempts to solve it neu-A
rosis defined as a series of such stereotyped reactions to
may be
problems that the patient has never solved in the past and is still
unable to solve in the present. In other words, a neurosis is the
result ofan interrupted learning process.
This concept of a neurosis has obvious implications for our
understanding of psychotherapy. It is the task of the therapy to
help the patient resume and complete the learning process which
was interrupted when his neurosis began.

Reactions to therapy

Let us now apply these distinctions to the methods by which

use
therapeutic effects are achieved, first considering that rational
of therapy which is motivated by the patient's desire for help.
The Transference Phenomenon 507

Rational Utilization. Sometimes a patient's symptoms disap-

pear soon after he comes into treatment in a way which we call
a "transference cure" and which we attribute to the fact that the
patient gains emotional release and reassurance from having
someone to whom he can talk freely without danger of arous-
ing the condemnation or other disturbing emotional reactions
he might call forth if he told the same things to someone else. In
the strictest sense, this is not "transference" but a rational and
adequate reaction to the therapeutic situation.
This patient may perhaps find even permanent relief from
his symptoms by such a rational use of the therapist as someone
to whom he can turn for emotional support. The relief the
patient
derives from thus unburdening himself of his difficulties may,
after a time, make possible a better adjustment to his real life
situation; then, when his real situation has been improved, he
may find the emotional support he has been receiving from the
therapist no longer necessary. When
the patient is able, after a
period of such help, to achieve a better adjustment in his real
life situation, we must admit that he has found a solution for his

problem without developing a transference neurosis, that his use

of the therapeutic situation has remained on a rational basis from
beginning to end. After all, it is one of the therapist's most ele-
mentary functions to help people by listening sympathetically and
without condemnation, and the patient has merely made intelli-
gent use of the therapist in this role.
Not infrequently, however, even in supportive therapy, such
a rational use of the therapy is blocked by the development of a
transference neurosis. Even in purely supportive therapy where
no attempt is made to give the patient insight into the motivations
for his actions, the patient is likely to have neurotic reaction pat-
terns which will cause him to react to all people upon whom he
is dependent for help with guilt or injured pride or both.

Resistance and Transference in Insight Therapy. In insight 01

"uncovering" therapy, it is important to understand the dynamic
relationship between transference and resistance.
To illustrate this relationship we cite the case of an attractive
young woman who spent the greater part of one analytic inter-
508 Thomas M. French

view talking in glowing terms of a minister with whom she was

closely associated in church work. She concluded by remarking
that it sounded as though she were in love with the minister. The
in love with him,
therapist quietly agreed that she must indeed be
and the rest of the hour was spent in friendly discussion of the
married. Two
problem created by the fact that the minister was
days later this patient had a violent temper tantrum;
when she
was seen by the analyst (before her anger had subsided), she was

quite unaware of the cause of her outburst.

To the therapist, however, it was evident that, although dis-
guised, this was a natural, and
indeed inevitable, reaction to the
that had been made in the previous session. At that
interpretation
time the patient had been able to discuss her feelings for the
minister because she had not yet fully sensed the conflict into
which they must plunge her. She had thought of her feelings for
the minister in terms of her pleasure in working with him pro-
to her that she was talking as
fessionally. Even after it occurred
if she were in love with him, she did not take the idea very

seriously. She was able to agree with the therapist that she must
be in love with the minister because at the time she had no
sense of the intensity of her feeling for him nor of the conflict and
frustration in which these feelings involved her. Such an attach-
ment to a married man was quite incompatible with her con-
science, reinforced as it was by her religious training.
Her love
for the minister, therefore, faced her with frustration either of
her forbidden love or of her devotion to her religious standards
both of which were very strong. Anyone who attempts to inter-
vene in a quarrel between friends is likely to draw the anger of
both upon him. Similarly, a therapist who attempts to make a
patient aware of a conflict between
two strong but incompatible
wishes must inevitably stir up the resentment of both sides of
the patient's conflict against himself. It was inevitable that this
patient should react with anger to an interpretation that involved
so much frustration for her.
In our psychotherapeutic thinking we often do not distinguish
carefullyenough between neurotic transference reactions and
this kind of resistance to a disturbing interpretation. Frank oppo-
sition to an unwelcome interpretation may be a normal reaction
The Transference Phenomenon 509

In defense of the neurosis and irrational only in the sense that the
neurosis itself is irrational. The patient's reaction in the case just
from such a frank protest only in
cited differs that, instead of
being an open refusal of the proffered insight, it is
unconsciously
disguised as general ill-temper so that the patient is able to avoid
full awareness of the conflict exposed by the new insight. dis- A
turbing interpretation is a present reality, an attempt upon the
part of the therapist to interfere with defenses necessary to the
patient's peace of mind. When a patient reacts with anger to such
an interpretation, therefore, his anger is not based upon a mis-
understanding of the present situation as a repetition of a memory
from the past. His anger is rather a direct reaction to the therapist
as a real and present threat to the patient's peace of mind. Such
a reaction is obviously a manifestation of the patient's resistance
to treatment, but it cannot be looked upon as a manifestation of

a transference neurosis.
The importance of this distinction must become clear as soon
as we reflect upon the fact that, in insight therapy, the chief real
contact between patient and therapist arises directly from the
therapist's efforts to free the patient of his neurosis. Very often,
however, not only does the patient wish (consciously) to be free
of his neurosis, but he also clings (unconsciously) to his neuro-
sis as a defense against conflicts which he is unwilling to face. As

a result of this ambivalence toward his neurosis, the patient must

inevitably develop a corresponding ambivalence toward the thera-
pist who is trying to free him of his neurosis by making him
aware of the underlying conflicts. In uncovering or insight ther-
apy, the therapist becomes the representative or advocate of the
repressed conflicts that he has interpreted to the patient, and very
often also of emerging conflicts that the patient unconsciously
expects the therapist to interpret. As a rule, in insight therapy
this role of the therapist as representative and advocate of dis-
turbing conflicts becomes for the patient the most important real
aspect of the therapeutic situation.
Undisguised resistance reactions frank protests against par-
ticular interpretations or against the therapist in his role as advo-
cate of repressed tendencies have a significance intermediate
between that of a rational utilization of the therapy and that oi
510 Thomas M. French

a transference neurosis. They resemble reality adjusted behavior

and differ from a transference neurosis in that they are reactions
to an important real aspect of the therapeutic situation. They are
irrational only in the sense that they are in defense of the patient's
neurosis which is by definition irrational.
One of the most frequent causes of a transference neurosis is
the need to hide or cloak such frank resistance reactions. Frank
resistance to an interpretation, or frank resentment of the thera-
having made it, is often tantamount to a confession
that
pist for
the interpretation has hit home; and if the therapist is quick to
follow up such resistance reactions, he can usually utilize them
of the original
very effectively to demonstrate the correctness
interpretation. The defense is much more efficacious, therefore,

if the patient can distort his real resistance to the therapist's

a misinterpretation of
interpretation by substituting in its place
the therapeutic situation as a repetition of some other situation
from the patient's past.
As an example of such a regressive substitution of a neurotic
transference pattern for a protest against the therapist in his real
role as the author of an unwelcome interpretation, we cite the
a patient's con-
following incident. The therapist had interpreted
flict between his fear of the therapy and his shame at betraying

his fear; to this the patient reacted with a dream in which a small

boy urinated on him. In this dream the patient was protecting

himself from a humiliating insight by reacting to the therapist's
interpretation as being merely
an insult. The symbolism by means
of which the dream characterized this insult was based upon
childhood fantasies of being urinated upon by the father, against
which the had reacted by substituting fantasies
patient's pride
of being urinatedupon by one of his younger brothers. Although
this dream could have been interpreted as expressive of a homo-
sexual wish toward the analyst (based upon a similar wish in his
childhood toward the younger brother and toward the father),
such an interpretation would have missed entirely the fantasy's
real present significance protest against the therapist's interpre-
tation of the preceding day.
Thus upon caretul analysis we find that the reactions of the

patient toward the therapist fall into three categories: (1) a ra-
The Transference Phenomenon 511

tional utilization of the therapy motivated by the patient's desire

for help, (2) resistance reactions against the therapist in his role
as advocate of the patient's disturbing conflicts, and (3) mani-
festations of the transference neurosis based upon a misinterpre-
tation of the therapeutic situation as a repetition of some other
situation from the patient's past.

Should the transference neurosis be avoided or utilized?

If we now attempt a more flexible approach to the problems

of therapy, several questions suggest themselves. Is a transfer-
ence neurosis inevitable? Or is it within the power of the thera-
pist to determine to what extent the patient's neurosis shall be-
come a transference neurosis? And granting that the therapist
can exert an influence towhat extent should he permit or en-
courage a transference neurosis and under what circumstances
should he diminish the intensity of a transference neurosis that
has already developed? We shall attempt to answer some of these
questions here; other aspects are considered in Chapter 3 [of
Psychoanalytic Therapy} under the heading "Manipulation of the
Transference Relationship."

The Transference Neurosis in Supportive Ttierapy. In a ther-

apy based upon emotional support, a transference neurosis is
always a complication and has little positive value. If, for exam-
ple, the patient reacts with guilt or shame to the therapist's efforts
to help him, he may become completely unable to benefit further
from a permissive and supportive attitude on the part of the thera-
pist. In such a case, then, it may be necessary for the therapist to

interpret (and thus help the patient to gain insight into) the mo-
tives of guiltand pride that underlie his transference neurosis in
order that the patient may become capable of accepting further
help.
Aichhorn has shown, however, that this kind of transference
neurosis may be held back or very much diminished by decreas-
ing the patient's sense of dependence on and obligation toward
the therapist. Inducing such a patient to perform a service for
the therapist, for instance, tends to relieve the patient's excessive
512 Thomas M. French

guilt feelings and thus makes him more comfortable. Or better

out-
still, the therapist may use his influence to encourage healthy
side interests in the patient and thus lessen the patient's too in-
tense absorption with his emotional relationship to the therapist.
Variations in the frequency of interviews may also be utilized
to regulate the intensity of a patient's dependence upon a sympa-
thetic therapist. Since the intensity of a patient's underlying de-
of interview,
pendence tends to increase with a greater frequency
less frequent interviews will usually decrease the feelings of guilt
J
and shame that may arise out of too intense dependent cravings.

The Transference Neurosis in Insight Therapy. As we know,

these irrational reactions that react to the present only as a repe-
tition of the pastcan be a very perplexing and disturbing compli-
cation in the therapeutic process. It is, therefore, one of Freud's
most important discoveries that these reactions, disturbing as
they are, can also be turned to therapeutic
account. As Freud
once phrased it, one cannot overcome an enemy who is absent.

By acting out his neurotic patterns in the analytic situation, the

to observe them directly
patient makes it possible for the therapist
and to demonstrate to him their motivation.
Because of this double significance of the transference neuro-
sis in insight therapy, it is evidently a matter of very great im-

portance to inquire how to make maximum

use of it to demon-
strate to the patient themotives of his irrational reaction patterns
while at the same time reducing to a minimum the complications
that may result from it. We
shall discuss first the principles in-

volved in such an effort to make maximum use of the transference

neurosis, and shall then apply these principles to some of the
more important problems of therapeutic strategy.
The principles that should guide us in our efforts to regulate
and utilize the transference neurosis are well known and rela-
tively simple. A transference
neurosis of moderate intensity can
be very profitably utilized to bring the patient's neurotic reaction
patterns out into the open where they can be observed. To the
1
While the initial result of a reduction in the frequency of interview is to
bring the patient's dependence into consciousness, once this fiist stage has been
passed the patient's dependence may then be expected to decrease.
The Transference Phenomenon 513

end that the patient may gain insight into the motives for his
neurotic behavior, irrational impulses inside the therapeutic sit-
uation have certain advantages over their being carried out in
real life, as the patientmight otherwise be impelled to do. Not
only can the patient's behavior in the analytic situation be more
directly and more accurately observed but, what may seem even
more important to the patient, many of the practical conse-
quences of acting out disturbing impulses in real life may be
avoided by giving voice to them within the therapeutic situation
where the patient is expressly permitted to say anything and the
therapist is trained to react to every utterance of the patient's

with sympathetic, but otherwise dispassionate and scientific, inter-

est and without praise or blame.
If the transference neurosis is allowed to exceed a certain

optimum degree of intensity, however, its value for purposes of

demonstration will be very greatly impaired. For purposes of
therapy it is not enough to bring the patient's neurotic reaction
patterns out into the open where the therapist can observe them.
In insight therapy, the object of making the patient aware of his
irrational impulses is to help the patient himself understand the
motives for them, to help him become aware of the differences
between the past situations which first gave rise to these impulses,
and the present situation with which he is now confronted, so
that he may modify his behavior accordingly. In order to help
the patient to such an understanding, the therapist must appeal
to the patient's good judgment. The therapist must work in co-

operation with the patient's own ego. As

soon as the patient's
neurosis begins to affect his relation to the therapist, however, the
will be impaired and this cooperation will be-
patient's judgment
come much more difficult.
The advantages of facilitating the transference of the patient's
unsolved conflicts into the therapeutic situation must, therefore,
be balanced against the danger of making impossible the coopera-
tion between the therapist and the patient's ego that will be neces-
sary if the patient is to be helped to an adequate understanding
of his conflict. To this end it is important that the transference
neurosis not be permitted to exceed a certain degree of intensity,
514 Thomas M. French

Importance of the Therapist's Attitude. With these principles

in mind, it will be of interest next to inquire what means the
therapist has either to facilitate or to damp
down the transference
neurosis, and how he can best make use of these means to help
the patient to an understanding of the motives of his behavior.
To induce a repetition of the patient's emerging neurotic mech-
anisms in the therapeutic situation is far from difficult. The most
trivial accidents often provoke neurotic transference reactions

of great intensity. For example, a young woman patient found

on the couch a penny that had fallen out of the pocket of the
patient who had preceded
her and became so angry and re-
proachful that she could hardly be induced to speak to her ana-
lyst (a man) for several days. Later the therapist learned that
when she was a child her mother had frequently sent her out to
find the father when he failed to come home, and that the father
who was very promiscuous but to whom she was deeply at-
tached would often give her a penny for candy as a bribe not
to disturb him when he was with another woman.
If the therapist knows what kind of problem is emerging into

consciousness, he will find it simple to elicit such reactions de-

liberately. He may, for example, praise
a patient for therapeutic

progress in order to bring out a latent guilt feeling about receiv-

ing the father's approval. Or he may express approval of a friend

of the patient'sin order to bring out latent jealousy reactions.

Therapists of experience know, however, that such devices

must be used with the greatest caution and circumspection, for
the reaction evoked may be one of such intensity that it is difficult
to control. even more important, if the therapist has, in
What is

it may later be much

fact, deliberately provoked such a reaction,
more difficult to convince the patient that his reaction is really
a repetition of an earlier pattern and not a quite natural reaction
to the therapist's behavior.
To be able to control transference reactions and promote real-

ity testing is, in most cases, much more for the very
difficult. It is

purpose of better understanding transference reactions that in a

standard psychoanalysis the analyst strives to keep his own per-
sonality out of the picture. He sits behind the patient where the
patient cannot see him, and avoids either telling the patient about
The Transference Phenomenon 515

his own private affairs or having social contacts with him. He

tries to create, as far as possible, a controlled laboratory situation
in which the individualpeculiarities of the analyst shall play as
role as possible in stimulating the patient's reactions. Human
little

behavior is complex enough in any case. The patient will be sure

to react to what he discerns of the analyst's personal motivations
and it simplifies the analyst's task enormously if he can reduce
his own behavior, as far as possible, to a standard and well con-
trolled pattern.

Psychotfoerapeiittc Situation. The effect upon the patient,

however, is likely to be just the opposite. Let us consider the

patient's psychological situation when he first comes to the

therapist for treatment.
Let us assume that the patient knows he is ill, that he is con-
sulting the therapist as a physician, wanting to be cured of his
illness. He has consulted physicians before and has some experi-

ence of being treated for physical ailments. Beyond this experi-

ence his impressions are very vague. He has little understanding
of the concept that neurotic symptoms are motivated, or he may
have picked up some rather bizarre notions about it; and as to
psychotherapy 01 psychoanalysis, he either knows little or noth-
ing or he may think of a psychoanalyst as a kind of wonder-
worker who does, or claims to be able to, perform strange and
incomprehensible feats of insight and therapy.
With this aura of mystery surrounding him the analyst, after
one or two preliminary interviews, tries to behave in accordance
with his professional ideal of suppressing his own personality as
much as possible. He is supposed to listen sympathetically but not
say very much and, after the first few sessions, he sits out of the
patient's sight.He does not respond to what the patient says in
the same way other people might be expected to respond. He
neither praises nor blames. He encourages the patient to tell him
everything and tries not to permit himself to become angry when
he is insulted or to be pleased when the patient becomes fond of
him. He answers questions only after he knows their motive. If he
responds at all, it is with an interpretation of the patient's mo-
tives, with an interpretation that treats the patient's behavior not
516 Thomas M. French

as something to be reacted to but as something to be studied with

an unemotional technical interest.
It is easy for an analyst who has become accustomed to trying

to live up to this ideal of impersonal behavior to underestimate

the impression of unreality that it tends to make especially upon
an unsophisticated patient. (It is for this reason that in the psy-
abandons
chotherapy of children and adolescents the therapist
this impersonal attitude for one of warm and sympathetic inter-

est.) The impression of unreality that the standard technique

fosters is beautifully caricatured by a dream one patient brought
her analyst after she had been in analysis a long time. In the
dream she pictured the analyst as in the hospital, in danger of dy-
ing from pneumonia; but when she visited
him out of kindness
of her heart, his only response was to reprove her for acting with-
out analyzing the motives for her coming.
The effect of the aura of mystery resulting from the analyst's
to make reality
strangely impersonal behavior must evidently be
testing more difficult for the patient. If the patient knows almost
about the analyst, it will be easier for him to become
nothing
conscious of unreal fantasies about him. It is in the dark that one
most often sees ghosts; a world in which the outlines of all objects
are unclear is very easily peopled with figures out of one's own
sits where the
Imagination. In other words, when the analyst
patient cannot see his reactions
and keeps the patient in the dark
about what kind of person the analyst is, he makes it easier for
the patient to develop a transference neurosis.
In a psychoanalysis, one of our most important aims is to make
the patient aware of his unconscious irrational and ego-alien im-
facilitated by introducing the
pulses. This process may often be
patient into a situation about which he knows
almost nothing and
by thus making the process of immediate reality testing more
difficult for him. The advantages of facilitating a transference

neurosis in this way, however, are short-lived. As we have already

pointed out, in order to help the patient to an understanding of
the motives of. his irrational behavior, the therapist must appeal
to the patient's good judgment and work in cooperation with the

patient's own ego.By undermining the patient's capacity for

reality testing, however, we make it much more difficult for
The Transference Phenomenon 517

the patient's ego to participate in the effort to gain insight On

thisaccount it is desirable to damp down the patient's tendency
to develop an unwieldy transference neurosis, and to facilitate
the process of reality testing instead of making it more difficult.
To this end we must strive to make the therapy understandable
to the patient, to rob the psychotherapeutic situation of its mys-

tery. As we have already pointed out, many features of the psy-

chotherapeutic procedure will seem strange to the unsophisticated
patient. The therapist should therefore explain the reasons for
any procedure that differs from what the patient might normally
expect in such a situation.
In one very important respect, the psychotherapeutic situation
is different from the ordinary relationship between doctor and

patient. Ordinarily the patient expects the doctor to tell him what
to do and, in return for doing as he is told, he expects the doctor
to cure him. In psychotherapy the patient must be taught to play
a more responsible role. In most cases it should be explained to
the patient very early that he has two roles to play in the thera-

peutic situation: on the one hand it is the patient's thoughts, im-

pulses, and behavior that are being studied, but on the other hand
the patient must join with the therapist in trying to understand
the motives for this behavior. Thus from the very beginning the
therapist aims to take the patient into his confidence and to secure
just as far as possible the cooperation of the patient's ego in the
therapeutic task.

The Modern Attitude. To achieve this end, we must modify

somewhat the above-described ideal of impersonal behavior on
the part of the analyst. The therapist should not aim to be a blank
screen upon which the patient is encouraged to project pictures
out of his own imagination but, whenever possible, should en-
deavor rather to put the patient at his ease by behaving in the
way the patient would normally expect from one to whom he has*
come for help and counsel. For instance, since the patient has
come to the therapist hoping to be cured of a disturbing illness
or perhaps merely seeking advice and help in dealing with a dis-
turbing problem in external adjustment it will usually be quite
in accordance with his expectations if he is asked to give an
518 Thomas M. French
account of his problem and of the circumstances leading up to it.
Then, as suggested in the chapter on planning psychotherapy,
it will be well at first to
accept the patient's own view of his
problem. If he thinks he is suffering from an organic illness, we
investigate this possibility objectively; if he feels that he is being
unfairly treated on the job, we inquire sympathetically into the
evidence for this belief.
In other words, we not only behave in such a way as to cor-
respond to the patient's normal expectations, but we also tenta-
tively treat the patient as a normal and rational human being and
we continue to do so except when the patient himself proves the
contrary. By so doing, we make it easier for him to behave to-
ward us as a normal human being in the therapeutic situation
and thus we lay the groundwork for the cooperation of the pa-
tient's ego in the task of understanding the motives for his less
rational behavior.
When we assume this attitude, we also achieve even more ef-

fectively the aim of throwing irrational motivations into sharp

relief, for just because we behave in a way the patient has a nor-
mal right to expect, and just because we proceed tentatively on
the assumption that in his dealings with us he is a normal and
rational human being, we thereby throw into sharper contrast any
irrational tendencies that may develop in this relatively normal
environment. We project the patient's behavior not against a
blank screen but against a background of normal behavior, and
the very fact that our behavior does not encourage the patient's
irrational tendencies makes them all the more conspicuous when
they do occur.

Advantages of emphasizing external reality

Considerations similar to those just discussed require that in

the choice and timing of interpretations our guiding principles
should be to keep the patient's as well as our own interest focused

upon the patient's problem in adjusting to the present external

reality.
At one time the real interest of psychoanalysts was concen-
The Transference Phenomenon 519
trated chiefly upon reconstructing the patient's past
history and,
in particular, his infantile neurosis. After Freud pointed out the

importance of repetition and working through in the therapeu-

tic process, this interest in the
past became focused upon helping
the patient to work through his infantile neurosis in the transfer-
ence relationship. We do not wish to minimize the importance of
this interest in the infantile neurosis from the point of view of
scientific investigation or for the therapist's orientation in plan-
ning the therapy, but we do wish to point out that when we make
the working through of the infantile neurosis the center of thera-
peutic interest, it will in many cases have the effect of encourag-
ing to a much greater extent than is necessary the tendency for
the patient to misinterpret present situations as though they were
identical with traumatic situations in the past.
In other words, by focusing interest on the infantile neurosis
we tend to favor the compulsive repetition of memories from the
past to the detriment of the reality testing function. Accordingly,
insofar as it is our purpose to strengthen the reality testing func-
tion of the ego, our policy should be just the opposite: we should
center the patient's attention rather upon his real present prob-
lems and should turn his attention to disturbing events in the past
only for the purpose of throwing light upon the motives for irra-
tional reactions in the present.
With this end in view, we should also try to keep the patient's
attention focused upon his problems in the external world rather
than upon his reactions to the therapist. We should, first of all,
encourage the patient's rational cooperation in trying to under-
stand his reactions to problems outside the therapeutic situation;
then, when emotional reactions to the therapist occur, the thera-
pist should pay close attention to the role of his own interpreta-
tions in provoking such reactions.

Problem Is Real. The patient has come to us with a problem

of adjustment to external reality that originated outside the thera-
peutic situation. In response to his request for help, we attempt
to help him understand the conflicting motives that have pre-
vented his finding a satisfactory solution for this problem. The
520 Thomas M. French

patient's neurosis, however, has arisen as a defense against having

to face insight into the nature of his conflicting motives. In spite
of his desire for help, therefore, he will also resent the therapist's
attempt to get him to face this disturbing insight. If the intensity
of his conflictis not too great, he may be able to recognize frankly

his resistance to the insight that the therapist has offered him; and
he then proceed, with the help of the therapist's emotional
will

support, to struggle frankly with the conflict that the therapist's

interpretation has reopened for him, until he has found a more
reality adjusted and satisfactory solution for it. In such a case the
reaction of the patient's ego to the therapist will remain, through-
out his struggle with the reawakened conflict, a quite open and
rational one.
If the interpretation is too disturbing, however, the patient
may be unable to recognize his resentment of the interpretation

frankly for what it is. As we have already pointed out, frank

resistance to an interpretation is tantamount to a confession that
the interpretation has hit home. Consequently, if the patient is
quite unable to face what it is that he is resisting, he will attempt
to rationalize his resistance by distorting his understanding of
the nature of the relationship between himself and the thera-

pist.
In searching for a basis for such a rationalization, the patient

may unconsciously draw upon either one or both of two possible

sources. The therapist must first consider the possibility that the
rationalization may be true. Therapists, like patients, are very
human and it may be that the patient is right when he says, for
example, that the therapist was irritated or wished to depreciate
him. In such a case we must admit that the patient's reaction is
based in part upon reality and must wait for less ambiguous evi-
dence that he is protesting against an unwelcome insight.
however, is unable to find a fact in
If the patient's resistance,

present reality upon which to base rationalizations, then he will

be compelled to draw upon memories from the past upon which
to base his misinterpretation of the therapeutic situation. To cite
two very familiar examples, an interpretation of a sexual or of
an aggressive impulse may be reacted to as a rebuke or as a threat
of punishment from the father; or an interpretation of sexual
The Transference Phenomenon 521

impulses may be felt to be an attempt on the part of the therapist

to seduce the patient as some father- or mother-figure once did.
In the handling of such a transference reaction, it is very im-
portant for the therapist to be alert to the fact that it has been
precipitated by his recent interpretation and not allow himself
unwittingly to be diverted from the task of helping the patient
to gain insight into his present behavior. The therapist will, of

course, be interested in thememories upon which the patient has

based his misinterpretation of the therapeutic situation, but will
also not lose sight of the ultimate goal to make the patient
aware of the differences between the memories he is re-living and
the situation provoked by the therapist's interpretation.
It is important to analyze carefully the form taken by the
patient's resistance to a particular interpretation. Such a reaction
is a valuable indication both of the nature and of the intensity of
his resistance to that interpretation. The mere fact, for instance,
that the patient distorts his understanding of the therapeutic situ-
ation by misinterpreting it in terms of the past, must be regarded
as a sign that the patient is not at the moment able to assimilate
the disturbing interpretation by struggling openly either with the
reactivated conflict or even with his resistance against the inter-
pretation. It is usually better, therefore, for the therapist not to
persist stubbornly in reiterating his original interpretation but
rather to follow closely the patient's reactions to it.
An important interpretation is usually the beginning rather
than the end of a chapter in the therapy. The experienced thera-
pist does not expect the patient to accept an important interpreta-
tion immediately, and knows that even an apparent understand-

ing and agreement on the part of the patie-nt is not equivalent to

a real assimilation of the proffered insight. The experienced thera-
pist expects rather that the patient, by a careful day-by-day study
of his own reactions to the interpretation, will gradually gain
insight into import for him and will finally assimilate the
its full

interpretation completely by finding a better solution for the con-

flict reopened by it. One of the most frequent errors of an inex-
perienced therapist is to fail to follow up in this way the impres-
sion he has made upon the patient by an initial, well-chosen
Interpretation.
522 Thomas M. French

One Problem at a Time. As soon as the therapist centers his

therapeutic interest not upon the past but upon the patient's pres-
ent problems, another very important principle becomes almost
self-evident. This is the principle that it is best to choose and
time interpretations in such a way as to focus the patient's atten-

tion upon only one problem at a time. Until a patient has utilized
the insight contained in one interpretation by finding a better
solution for the conflict that has been reopened by it, it is better
to keep focused upon analyzing the resistance to it
his attention

and not stir up quite new and unsolved problems. If this rule is
not followed, the patient's resistance tends to take on much more
complex forms, since the therapist becomes the representative
or advocate of not one but a number of conflicts that the patient
is unable to face and that may be very difficult to disentangle. On
the other hand, by concentrating the patient's attention and re-
sistance upon one problem at a time we tend to polarize his reac-
tions about a single conflict and thus make them much easier for
both therapist and patient to understand.
Ideally each therapeutic session should either help the patient
toward a solution of a problem that has been stirred up in a pre-
vious session, or else leave the patient with a clearly defined prob-
lem to work upon until the next session. In a well-conducted
therapy as much or more happens in the intervals between inter-
views as in the interviews themselves. The patient should feel that
every session brings him some gain, and each session should pro-
vide the patient with enough momentum to carry him to the next

step in the treatment. This next step is, so to speak, the next lesson
for which the patient does "homework" in the interval between.
Here, again, keen awareness of the trend of the patient's thoughts
and feelings is required so that, not only can one time interpreta-
tions and the frequency of interviews carefully, one can also
know on just what note to stop a particular interview. This is

especially well illustrated by Case U, in which each session brings

the patient to the very brink of the next bit of insight which the
patient then discovers for himself.
The Transference Phenomenon 523

Correct therapeutic orientation

The more attention is focused upon the patient's present prob-

lems, the more apparent becomes the value of Freud's concept
of the therapy as a process of reeducation, a resumption of an
interrupted learning process. This concept of psychotherapy
should be the guiding principle of every therapist in his attempts
to understand and direct the therapeutic process.
The patient's neurosis is an unsuccessful attempt to solve a
problem in the present by means of behavior patterns that failed
to solve it in the past. We are interested in the past as the source
of these stereotyped behavior patterns, but our primary interest
is in
helping the patient find a solution for his present problem
by correcting these unsuccessful patterns, by helping him to take
account of the differences between present and past.
The great advantage of this kind of orientation toward our
therapeutic problem lies in the fact that it centers our attention
upon the dynamic potentialities of the patient's personality for
healthy development, upon the forces that must be actually
utilized in the therapeutic process rather than primarily upon the

pathological mechanisms that are obstacles to the treatment.

Such an orientation is important because even the most dis-

turbing symptoms are often manifestations of the very forces

most essential for the therapeutic process. An
outstanding exam^
pie of this is to be found in the alcoholic, traditionally one of the

most difficult of all cases in which to effect a permanent cure.

The aggressive protest of an alcoholic against his dependent
cravings may take such disturbing forms that we are tempted to
reject him as a hopeless case. If we overcome our irritation, how-
ever, and look for the rationale behind this disturbing behavior*
we discover that this aggressive protest is only an excessive (bu*
at the same time, a futile) manifestation of the very incentive
that must be utilized in helping him learn to play a more inde-

pendent role. At first he is so ashamed of his intense de-

pendent cravings that he must use all his aggressive energy in
attempts to deny them. If we can satisfy some of these dependent
needs in the transference relationship and help him find satisfac-
524 Thomas M. French

tion in his daily life (and thus diminish the intensity of his de-

pendent cravings), he may become less ashamed of them and

therefore able to accept some insight into the universality of the
need for dependent gratification. When he no longer feels the
necessity of denying his cravings, he will
no longer have to over-
turn his aggressive ener-
compensate for them but will eventually
from futile to constructive efforts at a more
gies away protest
independent adjustment.
In making interpretations we often set up for ourselves the
ideal neither to praise nor to condemn the motives that have
activated the patient's behavior. We deceive ourselves, however,
if we hope thereby to keep the patient from reading praise
or

blame into our interpretations. We

are, of course, familiar with the
attitudes similar
tendency of a patient to attribute to the therapist
to those of his parents and to that of his own conscience toward
his unconscious But it is not only as a result of such
impulses.
transference mechanisms that the patient may get an impression
as to how the therapist evaluates the motives he interprets.
If, for example, a young man has just formed an attachment
for a young woman who in many ways resembles his mother,
and if his therapist decides to call attention to this resemblance,
it is indifference just how he shall go
by no means a matter of
about it. If he tells the patient that he is attracted to the young
woman because she represents his mother, the implication will
be that the patient should inhibit any sexual impulse toward the
young woman as he would toward his mother. On the other hand,
if the therapist waits until the patient has already begun to react

with guilt to his sexual impulses toward the young woman and
then points out to the patient that he feels guilty because he iden-
tifies the girl with the mother, the implication of this interpreta-

tion will tend to diminish the patient's guilt feelings because the

patient will feel that the therapist is reminding him

that the girl
is really not his mother. It is evident, therefore, that it is a mat-

ter of great importance to the advancement of the therapeutic

process in which way the therapist chooses to make this interpre-
tation.
In order to decide correctly between the two alternatives, the
The Transference Phenomenon 525

therapist must first orient himself by forming some concept of

the problem which the patient is at this time struggling to solve.
It may be, for example, that the young woman resembles the

mother not so much in her own personal characteristics as in the

fact that the patient is attracted to her on account of his com-
petitive urgestoward another man. In such a case the problem
with which the patient is struggling regards what to do with his

competitive impulses and it will be necessary for the therapist to

point out that the patient's competing for the young woman is
leading him into the same kind of conflict that once resulted from
competition with his father for the mother.
If, on the other hand, the young woman to whom the patient
is attracted resembles the mother only in her physical features
and personality traits and not in some way that would necessarily
involve the patient in a repetition of his oedipal conflict, then the
therapist must conclude that the patient's attraction to this girl is
a step toward freeing himself from the mother by turning to an-
other woman. If this conclusion is correct, then it must become

immediately evident that telling the patient that this girl repre-
sents his mother will tend to inhibit his impulse to accept the girl
as a substitute for the mother and will thus tend to keep the
patient fixated upon his mother. The therapeutic indication in
this case is just the opposite, to make the interpretation in such
a way as to call attention to the fact that the girl is not the pa-
tient's mother and thus to facilitate the patient's attempts to solve
his conflict by finding an innocent alternative to take the place of
the forbidden sexual impulses.

Conclusion

The more we keep our attention focused upon the patient's

immediate problem in life, the more clearly do we come to realize
that the patient's neurosis is an unsuccessful attempt to solve a

problem in the present by means of behavior patterns that failed

to solve it in the past. We are interested in the past as the source
of these stereotyped behavior patterns, but our primary interest
is in helping the patient find a solution for his present problems
526 Thomas M. French

by correcting these unsuccessful patterns, helping him take ac-

count of the differences between present and past, and giving him
repeated opportunity for actual efforts at readjustment within the
transference situation. Then, when the patient attempts to put his
new attitudes into practice in outside life, he will find they have
become second-nature. Thus does psychotherapy indeed become a
process of emotional reeducation.
 31

CLARA THOMPSON
Transference and Character Analysis*

What is the difference between transference and character resist-

ance? Those who have
lived through thirty odd years of the evolv-

ing concepts of psychoanalysis were slow to group the two con-

cepts together. Transference was the older theory and compared
with the concept of character resistance seems relatively simple.
As Freud first formulated it and as it was accepted for many
years, transference was the phenomenon, invariably seen in every
analysis of the patient's reliving his infantile attitudes and emo-
tions with the analyst. Freud's first simple formulation was that
the patient relived in analysis his feelings towards his parents at
the Oedipus period. These attitudes were seen as irrational in that
they did not make sense when applied to the relationship to the
physician. Moreover, they seemed to serve as an obstacle to the
progress of the analysis. When all was going smoothly, there
would suddenly have to be time out while the patient picked a
fight or engaged in some other emotional reaction to the analyst.
However, in the course of time, it became clear that this apparent,
obstacle was a valuable source of insight. By reliving the emotions
of the past the meaning of these earlier experiences became clear.
All of this made sense and for many years there was little modi-
fication of the early theory, but around 1920, Freud made some
new revolutionary discoveries, one of which was the repetition
compulsion. With this discovery transference again
came under
scrutiny as a theory and Freud concluded that transference was
a typical example of the repetition compulsion. In transference

* 1953, pp. 260-270.

Reprinted by permission from Samilcsa, Vol. 7,

527
528 Clara Thompson
were repeated automatically feelings and reactions of earlier pe-
riods even these experiences were unpleasant. Thus Freud
when
saw people tend to get into the same kind of difficulties over and
over again throughout life often in spite of strenuous efforts to
prevent this from happening. For example, a man who has made
a failure of one marriage makes every effort in the next marriage
to choose a different kind of woman. But in spite of all precau-
tions the same type of difficulty seems to appear again. As this
was first formulated, it looked as if this repetition compulsion was
some stupid trend in the organism to relive earlier states. In fact,
Freud saw it as derived from the death instinct. The driving force
of the death instinct was to return to an earlier state of being in
the last analysis organic matter seeks to return to the inorganic
state. This phantasy of its origin, however, was not particularly

helpful in elucidating the dynamics of the repetition compulsion

I say phantasy advisedly for, as far as I know, Freud never
stated this as a scientific thesis he spoke of
as letting his imagi-
it

nation play with the idea.

The next important step was the working out of theories of the
-ego. Prior to about 1925,
there was little interest in the ego and
its activities. In fact, compared with the interest in the libido and

its activities, the ego and its importance in the dynamics of per-
sonality were but shadowy concepts. But after Freud's formula-
tion of the pattern of the total personality with his description of
superego, ego and id, interest became focused for the first time
on the importance of the ego in the dynamics of living.
At about the same time as the development of this new inter-
est,another innovation was taking place, partly, no doubt, as a
result of thenew interest in the ego, but partly the new changes
were due to the dissatisfaction with the results of analysis as it
was practiced around 1920. At were faith-
that time, analysts

fully leading the patient back to whenever he expressed

his past

feelings about the analyst. Any statement made would elicit the
remark, "You must have felt this about your father," or some
other figure in childhood, thus, in fact, encouraging the patient to
turn away from his present feelings and recall more of the past.
Rank was the first to point out that in doing this the patient was
led away from the living present, the area of real feeling. As he
Transference and Character Analysis 529

put always easier to talk about the past because it is not

It, it is

present. He and
Ferenczi stressed, for the first time, that not every
attitude towards the analyst is transferred from the past, that
there is some reaction to the analyst in his own right and it is
actually anxiety relieving and, therefore, stops the progress of
analysis to point out to the patient you do not really feel this way
about me but about your father, etc. Thus, if the patient finally
gets the courage to tell the analyst he looks like a pig the whole
issue may be conveniently buried by referring it to the past, say-

ing that must be what you thought of your father. Two things
may happen as a result the analyst does not have to face the fact
that he does look like a pig and the patient feels, "I got safely
out of that one," but he does not feel more secure thereby, be-
cause he knows he really meant the analyst and not his father.
From that day on, he is likely to assume that the analyst's feel-
ings have to be protected. Realizing this, Rank and Ferenczi dis-
covered the importance in the picture of the analyst in his own
right. So, transference became more precisely defined as only
the irrational attitudes felt and expressed towards the analyst.
At this point, Rank and Ferenczi as well as Sullivan, were begin-
ning to define the analytic situation as an interpersonal process
although this was not explicitly so stated.
All of these discoveries contributed significantly to the work-
ing out of a method of character analysis, and work around this
has come to be known as ego psychology. As I understand it, this
term is used to describe the largely unconscious defensive activi-
tiesof the ego in carrying out its function of making the indi-
vidual acceptable to his environment. Freud defined the function
of the ego as the task of reconciling the impulses of the id with
the harsh demands of the superego, and also making the whole
behavior acceptable to the outside world. The task of the ego,
therefore,was to sufficiently alter id impulses through reaction
formations against them or sublimations of them so that they
become acceptable ways of behavior. This process was recog-
nized as going on outside awareness and these reaction forma-
tions and sublimations were recognized as defenses against instinc-
tual drives. Thus, it was concluded, the character of a person is

formed. This character is a fairly stable structure not easily

530 Clara Thompson
broken down and one of its functions is to keep the individual
free from anxiety.
So we come to character analysis around 1925. To recapitu-
late the steps leading up to it the new formulation of the con-
cept of transference in terms of the repetition compulsion, the
new interest in the ego and its dynamic function of reconciling
the personality with its environment, the new awareness of the
importance of the present situation in comparison with the recall
of the past. The next step was the evolution of a method of
character analysis and this was first described by Wilhelm Reich,
while he was training candidates in the Vienna Institute between
1925 and 1930. (These lectures have been incorporated in his
present book, Character Analysis, which, because it contains
many of his later distorted ideas, has
many defects, but the prac-
contributions of his earlier years make this still one
tical technical
of the few helpful books on the subject.) Since his work, many
analysts have contributed to knowledge of character structure and
techniques for analyzing it Franz Alexander, Anna Freud, Sul-
livan and Fromm to mention a few. Reich's method in over-

simplified terms was first to point out to the patient that he de-
fends himself, secondly, the way in which he does it, and only
then is the patient ready to see what he defends himself against.
Among classical analysts, the analysis of character is even
considered today as something qualitatively quite different and
much more achieve than the analysis of transference.
difficult to

Thus, it is
recognized that there are two general patterns of irra-
tional feelings one, the old transferred attitudes from childhood
and, two, habitual attitudes developed in the course of a lifetime
as ways of coping with life. It was thought that entirely different
techniques must be used in coping with these. 1 wish to show
that this idea that one is dealing with two entirely different

problems is a mistake, probably growing out of the different

theories of their origins and functions.
Understanding of character structure has been approached in
two different ways the classical Freudian way and the inter-
personal way best described by Sullivan and Fromm. In the
classical Freudian thinking, character traits are seen fundamen-
tally as defensive armor. They defend the c&o from bombard-
Transference and Character Analysis 531

ment by unacceptable impulses because they incorporate the

energy of those impulses in themselves in the form of sublimation
and reaction formation. By thus making the impulses acceptable,
they protect the ego from the disapproval of the superego and
the outside world. If we use this theoretical orientation, the rela-
tion of character structure to transference is not obvious. The

only things the two have in common is that they both act as
resistances in analysis and at the same time offer a source of

insight into what is going on in the patient. However, according

to Freudian theory, the nature of their origins is different.
Transference is an emotion or attitude transferred unaltered from

some earlier situation whereas a character trait is in addition a

transformed instinct.

However, if we try to understand character and transference

in interpersonal terms it willbe seen that both have similar ori-
gins as well as performing similar functions. According to
Sulli-

van and Fromm, the child's personality is formed as a result of his

interaction with the significant people of his childhood. As Sulli-
van describes it, out of the mass of his potentialities the child
tends to develop those aspects of himself which meet with ap-
proval and to dissociate and deny as belonging to him
those
of himself which meet with disapproval. So in time he
aspects
In reality
develops a self dynamism which he thinks of as himself.
it is the
product of the impact upon him of other people's evalua-
tions. Since he lacks the knowledge and experience necessary to
make his own evaluation, we can say then that his self is moulded
around the selves of other people and their selves in turn have
been similarly formed, and eventually his self dynamism will
affect the lives of still other people and so on. This self to be sure
is somewhat modifiable by later impacts but it is not changed
with ease, for the unconscious assumption is that all people will
react as the first significant people did that is, they will approve

and disapprove of the same traits. Therefore it is anxiety-produc-

ing to try to alter the self system. Thus rigid
character traits are
formed. If the parents were derogatory, a derogatory attitude is-
expected from others and the person himself assumes he is not
the person grows
much good. If the parents were overprotective,
up assuming he is unable to care for himself and expecting others
532 Clara Thompson

to think the same and care for him. Thus the oral personality
to use a Freudian term but explain its origin differently de-
velops in an environment of overprotection. One is given things,
one can expect to receive, one need only be compliant and re-
is formed
ceptive and all things will come to you. This attitude
from actual early experience. Oral sadistic character, on the
other hand, comes from an ungiving home. One has to become
clever and the environment to get what one needs.
manipulate
The anal character as Fromm interprets it in interpersonal terms
comes from a home in which nothing is given nor can something
be obtained by manipulation. It is necessary to fend for oneself
and because this is precarious and difficult, it is better to hoard
whatever you do get because you may never get any more. Thus,
according to Sullivan and Fromm, an anal character may be
formed before the period of toilet training because it is not pro-
duced by a sublimation of anal impulses, but is a reaction pattern

to a certain type of parent personality. This type of parent per-

sonality is often very stern and rigid in toilet training also but

long before this the parental attitudes have had their impact
on
the child. These are, of course, all extreme pictures and rarely
are seen in pure culture. The same statement, i.e. the fact that
they are never seen in pure culture, would hold true also of the
Freudian categories as defined in Freudian terms.
Now how does this cultural interpersonal orientation account
for transference? One can say the whole picture, both transfer-
ence and character structure, is that of transferring attitudes from
the past and applying them to present situations where they are
often inappropriate. The question is why do we do this? The
infant learns a way of reacting to the mother for example. The
child assumes because he has no other experience at the time that
she is the way people are. In other words, all life is like this.

Therefore he assumes it is well to act in all situations in a simi-

lar fashion. By doing this he often manages to make people react
to him the way mother did. How does he bring that about? For

example, supposing mother over-protected him. Suppose in addi-

tion he came to resent this because it interfered with his freedom.
If he were free from ties to the past he would certainly break
loose from this situation as soon as possible and establish his
Transference and Character Analysis 533

independence. Consciously this is what he wishes to do, but his

character pattern is otherwise. The attitude of helplessness is
deeply ingrained in his personality. He does not know how to
do the simplest thing, e.g. a patient of 30 had never bought a
shirt for himself and had never thought about how it is done.
He seemed so helpless that the women who became attached to
him took over the job. Why did they not rebel?
just naturally
Because appealed to motherly types. Other types
his helplessness
of women were not attracted to him. It suited their life pattern to
cater to him. And so the original pattern was maintained. This,
in interpersonal terms, is the way the repetition compulsion
works. But the other part of the pattern also worked. For some
reason not understood by him, this man would find himself over
and over again becoming annoyed at the way all the women he
knew seemed to want to care for him which he felt as a wish to
dominate him. One affair after another ended in the same way
without his becoming aware of his contribution to the picture.
According to Sullivan's thinking, therefore, the repetition com-
pulsion is not simply a compulsive reliving of the past, but a

repeated recreating of similar situations so structured that the

outcome is inevitably the same. To take a little more complicated
example, a woman found herself 2 or 3 times getting involved
with men married to unstable domineering women whom they
could not leave because they feared what would happen to the
wife. This woman came to the conclusion all men are cowed and
browbeaten, but on each occasion she had to try to be different
from the wife by being helpful, making no demands, not making
the usual fuss about neglect, etc., and always secretly hoping she
would save the man and he would love her for it. This proved to
be the childhood pattern of her relation to her father. A
secret
love existed between them but her mother continued to dominate
the father. The same was true of her lovers. She was the preferred
one, but none of them was free to affirm his love. Once we would
have said this is simple transference. This woman relives her
Oedipus situation over and over again. But to call it a simple
automatic reliving is to overlook its dynamics. What function
does it serve in her present life? Is she simply frustrated and
unhappy? The answer is "No." She has come to find some satis-
534 Clara Thompson

faction in her secret love life. Somehow, she has created the situ-

ation she actually wants in her present life/For her the possibility
of successful marriage would produce panic. It would threaten
her character structure, in other words, her defense systems.
She has structured her life around being the helpful different one.
But in order to become this kind of person, she had to develop
a certain detachment. She had to be a kind of therapist to the
men she loved. This meant subordinating her own needs with
a compensatory development of neurotic independence. What do
I mean by neurotic independence? I mean close relatedness to
another person has become anxiety provoking. Thus, instead of
a simple transference of a situation from the past, we have a kind
of character development, which is not resolved by simply recall-
out all the subsequent de-
ing its origin. The patient has to work
fensive maneuvers she developed in the course of growing in
order to protect herself from being hurt. These are her character
structure, but they are developed on the basis of thinking all men
so, unwittingly, she forces them
and all to
are like her father,
act the same part, and assigns the same role to herself, not realiz-
ing her contribution.
The more actively destructive interpersonal patterns are
formed
in a similar way. A woman tells in tears of how her husband
abuses her. Almost anything she does is a pretext for a fight. He
calls her the vilest names and usually leaves threatening not to
return. In other words, it looks as if he were a villain. This pic-
ture can only be understood in terms of reciprocal reactions. As
a child, this type of behavior went on with the father. At the age
of seven, she recalls being forcibly separated from a psychotic
mother who was to be taken to a hospital. She blamed her father
for this separation (and we must assume that previous behavior
on his part made this seem a rational possibility or perhaps her
mother's interpretation of his behavior). Throughout her child-
hood she and her father fought on every conceivable occasion.
We can see that she was hating him, but she assumed the fights
were because she was a bad and worthless child. The same pat-
tern was repeated in her marriage. This only served to emphasize
to her that she really was worthless and that her husband despised
her. The whole thing suddenly became clear to her when the
Transference and Character Analysis 535

analyst had the occasion to observe the beginning of a fight with

her husband. The two had come to the analyst's office together to
discuss divorce. The analyst asked the husband., "Is it true there
isnothing you admire about your wife?" The husband replied
with sincerity, "I think she has been a good mother to our child.'*
Suddenly, the woman, in a fury, said, "Is that all you want of
me?" and a first class fight was started. As a result of this en-
counter, the patient, for the first time, became aware of her
contribution to the endless fights. She said, "I was a little aware
as I said it that I wanted to hurt and test him. When he got mad
back, I felt thought this will show you what he does to me.
good. I
When you pointed out what 1 had done to him, I was furious with
you. I felt you had deserted me and he had won again."

These examples give some indication of the type of thing one

looks for in analyzing character. I hope I have made clear the
ways in which character patterns develop on the basis of early ex-
perience and perpetuate themselves. Character structure we
might define as the defensive reactions developed around trans-
ference and strengthened by repeated life experiences. It can not
be resolved by simply referring it back to the original situation,
for subsequent life experience, including neurotic goals, have be-
come involved in its structure. Therefore, as Reich expressed it,
character traits must be analyzed by removing the subsequent
layers one at a time, removing the most recent first, as you would
remove the layers of an onion.
Thus far, I have tried to translate interpersonal concepts into
Freudian language assuming you are better acquainted with this
way of thinking. In closing, however, I would like to present Sulli-
van's concept of parataxic distortion in his own way of thinking
because I feel his thinking makes the most sense on this subject.
Sullivan coined the term parataxic distortion to include the two
types of clinical pictures which Freud included under transfer-
ence and character structure. He said an interpersonal relation
may be said to exist between two or more people, all but one
of whom may be illusory to a greater or lesser extent. In other
words, a person, in relating to another person, may see and
react tomany things which are not tbsre IB reality. Thus, he
may see in the other person hostility when it is his own projected
536 Clara Thompson

hostility. He may see in the other person all kinds of positive

attributes which dependency needs require. He may assume,
his
because his image of the perfect love object is a tall blond female,
that the particular tall blond female whom he meets is the perfect
mate irrespective of her other qualities, etc. Also, he may assume
authority are like his father and proceed
that all men in to

act accordingly. All of this goes into an interpersonal relation,

but all of these illusory attributes are parataxic distortions grow-
ing out of the person's previous life experiences.
As you can
see, some of these distortions may
be due to a relatively simple
real figures, Some of the
transferring of attitudes towards earlier
distortions are. conjured up in response to neurotic needs, e.g.
hostility, the perfect mate, etc., but all are reacted to by the

patient as if they were realities in the present. Thus assumes A

he is communicating with B, but, instead of seeing B clearly,
he sees B with a cup full of C in him, or, if A is psychotic, he
may actually see nothing but C when he communicates with B,
or he sees B with some projected attitudes of himself, A, clinging
to him. Of course, it is to be assumed that, in most human

relations, B is doing the same thing with A. Assuming now

that B the analyst, it is the ideal goal of B, the one for which
is

he submits himself to a long analysis, to do a minimum of

distorting of A, so that he will be more free to observe A's dis-
tortions. So, in Sullivanian terms, therapy consists of the gradual

clarifying for the patient the kind of things

he is doing to and
with other people, as a result of his distortion of them. Finally,
this comes out most clearly in pointing out his distorted attitudes
and behavior towards the analyst. But it is not enough simply
to help him understand the history of the development of his
distortions he must, in addition, see clearly what function it
serves in the present and how it is meeting his needs. Thus, for
example, a man complains he has no friends. This has a history
which one might say, in a way, explains it. In the course of
treatment, it is presently apparent that he has contempt for most
people who are his equals or superiors in one way or another.
Anything making it necessary to acknowledge the even temporary
success of another, produced depression. It soon became apparent
that his contempt appeared most frequently in sarcastic belittling
Transference and Character Analysis 537

remarks which undoubtedly alienated people. Soon this appeared

in the analysis there were references to my not being very
bright, and sexually most unattractive. He repeatedly had to tell
me how I should have phrased some question or interpretative
statement. Since he was a colleague of some experience, this was
calculated to have a sting. The whole thing eventually became
clear. Invariably, the attacks occurred when he felt in danger
of liking me or admiring me. This positive feeling was a threat to
his security for he dared not trust anyone. So, the patient who
came with the complaint that he had no friends not only presently
became aware of what he did to keep people away, but presently
he discovered the motive for his behavior in his fear of positive
feelings. He came to see that having a friend was potentially
more disturbing than being lonely. Thus, one layer of the onion
was removed and the next step would be to investigate the fear of
intimacy. One must ask how did the patient picture me? How did
he explain being afraid of me? One picture was that I was a
sexually starved female looking for a good lay. Therefore any
description of sexual success on his part must make me envious
and, if I am envious, there may be reprisals. Another picture he
had of me was I am a founder of a school and, therefore, am
looking for converts. I will see in him a promising man, who
will be a credit to me and will, in the end, enhance my prestige,
so I won't let him live his own
life. Both of these charges are,

realm of possibility and I must

at least, theoretically within the
consider whether they have any validity, that is whether any
behavior on my part contributes to these evaluations. But I
must also keep my mind open to why these two things, even if
true, could be threatening to him. Does he simply conjure them
up hoping to make me angry and thus drive me away? This is
certainly one factor with this man, but there are other possi-
bilities. Does he, for example, secretly feel he is God's gift to

women, and does he secretly hope he is my white haired boy

whom I will adore if he helps me become famous? All of these
and many more are considerations of significance in the inter-
personal situation and can be explained without recourse to con-
sidering the sublimation of instincts.
Many have questioned whether Sullivan's concept of parataxic
538 Clara Thompson

distortion not be identical with the Freudian concept of

may
transference and character structure.It certainly includes the

same observable phenomena, but the theory of origin is different,

and this I consider Sullivan's important contribution to psycho-
analysis. He sees a personality always in its aspects of inter-
communication with other personalities. The fact that this makes
the origin of character structure similar to the origin of trans-
ference is but one example of the implications for a new theo-
retical approach.
 32

MABEL BLAKE COHEN

Countertransference and Anxiety*

Transference has been defined by Freud l as the "re-impressions

and reproductions of the emotions and phantasies charac- . . .

terizedby the replacement of a former person by the physician."

This definition does not make explicit the concept that such
attitudes must be irrational that is, not appropriately held in
relation to the person who is the analyst
though this is gener-
ally accepted. Countertransference can be roughly defined as
the converse of transference: the repetition of previously acquired
attitudes toward the patient, such attitudes being irrational in
the given situation. Much time and attention has been given to
the study of the transference attitudes of the patient in analysis,
but until recent years comparatively very little to the study of
Countertransference, which had been assumed to be absent, ex-
cept in situations where the analyst was incompletely analyzed.
This assumption has gradually given way to the recognition that
Countertransference attitudes are present in all analytical situa-
tions, perhaps roughly proportionate to the degree of success of
2
the therapist's analysis, but nonetheless present in all
In the belief that the study of the Countertransference can
as does the study
provide useful material to the analysis, just
*
Reprinted by permission of The William Alanson
White Psychiatric
Foundation, Inc., from Psychiatry, 1952, 15:231-243. Copyright, 1952, by
The
William Alanson White Psychiatric Foundation, Inc.
iSee Freud's definition [taken from Bruchstiick (Fragment), as translated
by Ernest Jones] in Leland E. Hinsie and Jacob Shatzky, Psychiatric Dictionary
(New York, Oxford University Press, 1940).
to It/'
Margaret Little, "Countertransference and the Patient's Response
2

Internat. /. Psychoanal. (1951) 32:32-40.

539
540 Mabel Blake Cohen

of the transference, this paper represents an attempt to continue

the analysis and dynamic understanding of the phenomenon.
The analytic situation can be looked upon as an interaction
between two people, therapist and patient. Using a mathematical
analogy, we have an equation which contains two variables,
patient and therapist. Each main variable is itself a complex
term composed of many factors, known and unknown. But of
the two variables, that representing the therapist is known to a
much greater degree than that representing the patient. la solving
the equation,if the therapist variable can become known, the

equation can be solved and the value of the patient variable

determined. Many of the therapist's attitudes and reactions to
the patient are utilized on a nonverbal experiential level, of
course, as the result of training. The more experienced and ca-
pable the therapist, the more use he makes of such material. Yet
the lack of concrete description and study of this aspect of
treatment tends to keep it obscure, to hamper its use in training,
and to prevent further development of theory and technique
pertaining to it. Far too often the young therapist enters into

his first treatment experiences with the concept that he should

not have "countertransference feelings" toward the patient, that
entertaining such feelings is evidence that he is incompletely
analyzed or technically incompetent. This leads to an attempt to
suppress such attitudes where they are conscious and to a tend-
ency to discourage a widening of awareness to include those
which are less easily available because more anxiety-connected.
The contrary point of view, that of welcoming as wide an aware-
ness as possible of all one's responses to a patient, with the hope
of understanding the sources of whatever anxiety or other com-
plex feelings and impulses the patient may inspire in one, is far
more conducive to the development of the needed skills as well
as the needed objectivity and friendliness in the analyst.
But the point of greatest importance is that when the treat-
ment is in a phase of difficulty, the analyst may often obtain
valuable clues as to the nature of the obstacles in the way of
the patient's favorable development by careful observation of
the responses elicited in himself at such times. One may assume
Counter transference and Anxiety 541

that such responses elicited in the therapist by the patient's be-

havior are similar to (though not necessarily identical with)
those elicited from some important person in the patient's pre-
vious life. Of
course, one also assumes that the responses elicited
in the therapist are similar to (though not necessarily identical

with) his responses to some person of importance in his own life.

And therefore, by recognizing some particular constellation of
feelings in his response to the patient, understanding their roots
and meaning in his own life, the therapist may extrapolate from
his own experience to make a guess as to what the patient's ex-

perience has been in the past and is currently in the therapeutic

relationship. These data, being available to both participants,
may be used to document and make more convincing an interpre-
tation of the problem of the patient.

An operational definition

Some discussion of a working definition of the term counter-

transference is necessary, since it is by no means agreed upon

by analysts that is can be correctly considered the converse of

transference. P. W. Winnicott, for instance, has recently written
about the importance of attitudes of hate from analyst to patient,
particularly in dealing with psychotic and antisocial patients,
He speaks mainly of "objective countertransference," meaning
"the analyst's love and hate in reaction to the actual personality
and behavior of the patient based on objective observation." 3
However, he also mentions countertransference feelings that are
under repression in the analyst and need more analysis. His
concept of "objective countertransference" would not be included
under the term countertransference if the latter is used as the
converse of transference. Frieda Fromm-Reichmann 4
separates
the responses of the psychoanalyst to the patient into those of
a private and those of a professional person and recognizes the
possibilityof countertransference distortions occurring in both
8
D. W. Winnicott, "Hate in the Counter-transference," Internal:. /.

PsychoanaJ. (1949) 30:69-74; p. 70.

*
Frieda Fromm-Reichmann, Principles of Intensive Psychotherapy; Chicago,
Univ. of Chicago Press, 1950.
542 Mabel Blake Cohtn

aspects. Franz Alexander

5
has used the term to mean all of
the attitudes of the doctor toward the patient, while Sandor
Ferenczi 6 used to cover the positive, affectionate, loving, or
it

sexual attitudes of the doctor toward the patient. Michael Baiint,

looking at a somewhat different aspect, calls attention to the
fact that every human relation is libidinous, not only the patient's
relation to his analyst, but also the analyst's relation to the pa-
tient. He says that no human being can in the long run tolerate

any relation which

brings only frustration and that it is as true
"The question is, therefore,
for the one as for the other. . . .

how much and what kind of satisfaction is needed by the patient

on the one hand and by the analyst on the other, to keep the
tension in the psycho-analytical situation at or near the optimal
7
level."
In developing his theory of interpersonal relations, Harry
Stack Sullivan has defined the psychotherapeutic effort of the
of participant observa-
analyst as being carried on by the method
tion.He says, "The expertness of the psychiatrist refers to his
skillin participant observation of the unfortunate patterns of
his own and the patient's living, in contrast to merely partici-
the patient." 8 In the
pating in such unfortunate patterns with
use of the term "unfortunate patterns" Sullivan includes the
concept of countertransference, or in his words "parataxic
dis-

tortions."
In several important recent papers, Leo Herman, Paula
Heirnan, Annie Reich, Margaret Little, and Maxwell Gitelson
have made a beginning in the attempt to clarify the concept and
to formulate some dynamic principles regarding the phenomena
included in this category. Herman 9 is mainly concerned with
defining the optimal attitude of the analyst to the patient,
an

6
Franz Alexander, Fundamentals of Psychoanalysis; New York, Norton,
1948.
6
Sandor Ferenczi, Further Contributions to the Theory and Technique of
Psycho-analysis; London, Hogarth Press, 1950.
Baiint, "Changing Therapeutic Aims and Techniques in Psycho-
7 Michael

analysis/' Internat. /, Psychoanal. (1950) 31:117-124; p. 122.

Harry Stack Sullivan, "The Theory of Anxiety and the Nature of Psycho-
8

therapy/' PSYCHIATRY (1949) 12:3-12; p. 12.

Leo Herman, "Countertransfeience and Attitudes of the Analyst in the
Therapeutic Process/' PSYCHIATRY (1949) 12:159-166.
Countertransference and Anxiety 543

attitude which he characterizes as "dedicated." This description

is based on the assumption that the analyst's emotional responses
to the patient will be quantitatively less than those of the average

person and of shorter duration, as the result of being quickly

worked through by self-analysis. This, then, would represent an
ideal goal of minimal and easily handled countertransference re-

sponses.
Heiman 10 takes a step forward when she states that the
analyst's emotional responses to his patient within the analytic
situation represent one of the most important tools for his work,
and that the analyst's countertransference is an instrument of
research into the patient's unconscious. This important formu-
lation is, in my opinion, the basis upon which the study of the

analyst's part of the interaction with the patient should be

built. Previously, the statement has frequently been made that

the analyst's unconscious understands the patient's unconscious.

However, it is presumed that much hitherto unconscious ma-
terialbecomes available to awareness after a successful analysis,
so that the understanding should theoretically not be only on an
unconscious level but should be formulable in words.
Reich 11 has classified a number of countertransference atti-

tudes of the analyst. She separates them into two main types:
those where the analyst acts out some unconscious need with the
patient, and those where the analyst defends against some un-
conscious need. On the whole, countertransference responses are
reflections of permanent neurotic difficulties of the analyst, in

which the patient is often not a real object but rather is used
as a tool by means of which some need of the analyst is gratified.
In some instances, there may be sudden, acute countertransfer-
ence responses which do not necessarily arise from neurotic
character difficulties of the analyst. However, Reich points out
that the interest in becoming an analyst is itself partially de-
termined by unconscious motivation, such as curiosity about
other people's secrets, which is evidence that countertransference

10
Paula Heiman, "On Counter-transference," Inrernar. J. Psychoanal. (1950)
31:81-34.
11
Annie Reich, "On Counter-transference," Internat. J. Psychoanal. (1951)
32:25-31.
544 Mabel Blake Cohen

attitudes are a necessary prerequisite for analysts. The contrast

between the healthy and neurotic analyst is that in the one
the curiosity is desexualized and sublimated in character, while
in the other it remains a method of acting out unconscious
fantasies,

Margaret Little continues the search for an adequate definition

of countertransference, concluding that it should be used pri-
marily to refer to "repressed elements, hitherto unanalysed, in
the analyst himself which attach to the patient in the same way
as the patient transfers to the analyst affects, etc., belonging to
his parents or to the objects of his childhood: i.e., the analyst

regards the patient (temporarily and varyingly) as he regarded

his own parents." However, in addition, Little thinks that other
as some
aspects of the analyst's attitudes toward the patient, such
specificattitude or mechanism with which he meets the patient's
transference, or some of his conscious attitudes, should be con-
sidered countertransference responses. She confirms Heiman's
statement that the use of countertransference may become an
extremely valuable tool in psychoanalysis, comparing it in im-
portance to the advances made when transference interpretations
began to be used therapeutically. She sees transference and coun-
tertransference as inseparable phenomena; both should become
increasingly clear to both doctor and patient as the analysis
progresses. To that end, she advocates judicious use of counter-
transference interpretations by the analyst. Both "are essential
to psycho-analysis, and counter-transference is no more to be
feared or avoided than transference; in fact it cannot be
is

avoided, it can only be looked out for, controlled to some extent,

and perhaps used." 12
13 in a
Gitelson, comprehensive paper, continues to clarify the
phenomena under He goes back to the original definition
scrutiny.
of countertransference used by Freud the analyst's reaction to
the patient's transference and separates this set of responses
from another set which he refers to as the transference attitudes
of the analyst. These transference attitudes, which are the result

Reference footnote 2; p. 40.

18
Maxwell Gitelson, "The Emotional Position of the Analyst in the Psycho-
analytic Situation," Internat. /. PsycJhoanal. (1952) 33:1-10.
Countertransference and Anxiety 545

of "surviving neurotic transference potential" in the analyst,

involve "total" reactions to the patient that is, over-all feelings
about and toward the patient while the Countertransference at-
titudes are "partial" reactions to the patient that is, emergency
defense reactions elicited when the analysis touches upon un-
resolved problems in the analyst.
This classification, while valid enough, does not seem to for-
ward investigation to any great extent. For example, Gitelson.
feels in general that the existence of "total" or transference atti-
tudes toward a patient is a contraindication for that analyst to

work with that patient, whereas the partial responses are more
amenable to working through via the processes of self-analysis.
I am extremely skeptical whether it is possible for one to avoid
"total" reactions to a patient that is, general feelings of liking
for, dislike of, and responsiveness toward the patient, and so
on, are present from the time of the first interview. These do
vary in intensity; when extreme, they may indicate that a non-

therapeutic relationship would should the two persons

result

attempt working together. On the other hand, their presence in

awareness may permit the successful scrutiny and resolution of
whatever problem is involved, whereas their presence outside of
awareness would render this impossible. In other words, it is
not somuch a question whether "total" responses are present or
not, but rather a question as to their amenability to recognition
and resolution. For this reason, some other type of classification
would, in my opinion, be more useful for investigative purposes.
This comment by no means disputes the validity of Gitelson's
criticism of the rationalization of much Countertransference act-

ing-out under the heading of "corrective emotional experience."

He emphasizes that motherly or fatherly attitudes in the analyst
are often character defenses unrecognized as such by him. Al-
though the analyst, according to Gitelson, cannot deny his per-
sonality nor its operation in the analytic situation as a significant
factor, this does not mean that his personality is the chief instru-
ment of the therapy. He also reports the observation that when
the analyst appears as himself in the patient's dreams, it is often
the herald of the development of an unmanageably intense trans-
ference neurosis, the unmanageability being the difficulties of
546 Mabel Blake Cohen

the analyst's situation. Similarly, when the patient appears as

himself in the analyst's dreams, it is often a signal of unconscious
countertransference processes going on.
In summary, then, we see that the recent studies on counter-
transference have included in their concepts attitudes of the
therapist which are both conscious
and unconscious; attitudes
which are responses both to real and to fantasied attributes of

the attitudes which are stimulated by unconscious needs

patient;
of the analyst and attitudes which are stimulated by sudden out-
bursts of affect on the part of the patient; attitudes which arise
from responding to the patient as though he were some previously
important person in the analyst's life;
and attitudes which do not
use the as a real object but rather as a tool for the grati-
patient
fication of some unconscious need. This group of responses covers
a tremendously wide territory, yet it does not include, of course,
all of the analyst's responses to the patient. On what common
are the above attitudes singled out to be called counter-
ground
transference?
It seems to this writer that the common factor in the above
responses is the presence of anxiety in the therapist whether
recognized in awareness or defended against
and kept out of
awareness. The contrast between the dedicated attitude described
as the ideal attitude of the analyst or the analyst as an expert
in problemsof living, as Sullivan puts it and the so-called
countertransference responses, is the presence of anxiety, arising
from a variety of different sources in the whole field of patient-
therapist interrelationship.
If countertransference attitudes and behavior were to be

thought of as determined by the presence of anxiety in the

definition which would
therapist, we might have an operational
be more useful than the more descriptive one based on identifying
patterns in the analyst which were derived from important past
relationships. The definition would, of course, have to include
situations both of felt discomfort and also those where the
anxiety was out of awareness and replaced by a defensive oper-
ation. Such a viewpoint of countertransference would be useful
MI that it would include all situations where the analyst was
Countertransference and Anxiety 547

unable to be useful to the patient because of difficulties with his

own responses.
The definition might be precisely stated as follows: When, in
the patient-analyst relationship, anxiety is aroused in the analyst
with the effect that communication between the two is interfered
with by some alteration in the analyst's behavior (verbal or
otherwise) , then contertransference is present.
The question might be asked, If countertransference were de-
fined in this way, would the definition hold good for transference

responses also? It would seem that on a very generalized level

thismight be so, but on the level of practical therapeutic under-
standing such a statement would not be enlightening. While it
could safely be said of every patient that the appearance of his
anxiety or defensive behavior in the treatment situation is due
to an impairment of communication with the analyst which in
turn is due to his attributing to the analyst some critical or other-
wise disturbing attitude which in its turn was originally derived
from his experience with his parents still this would leave out

of consideration the fact that the patient's whole life pattern and
his relation to all of the important authority figures in it would
show a similar stereotyped defensive response. So that, certainly
in the early stages of treatment and to a lesser extent in later
stages, the anxiety responses of the patient are for the most
part generalized and stereotyped rather than particularized with
special reference to his relationship with the analyst.
This, however, is not true of the analyst. Having been analyzed
himself, most of such anxiety-laden responses as he has experi-
enced with others have entered awareness and many of them have
been worked through and abandoned in favor of more mature
and integrated responses. What remain, then, are not such stereo-
typed or universal responses. To illustrate, all patients do not
automatically represent sibling rivals, while it is possible that a
particular, unusually competitive patient may still represent a
younger sibling to an analyst who had some difficulties in his

own life with being the elder child.

To speak of the same thing from another point of view, the
analyst is not working on his problems in the analysis; he is work-
548 Mabel Blake Cohen

ing on the patient's. Therefore, while the patient brings his

the
anxiety responses to the analysis as his primary concern,
fact that the analyst's problems are not under scrutiny permits
him a greater degree of detachment and objectivity. This is, to
be sure, only a relative truth, since the analyst at times and
under certain circumstances is certainly bringing his problems
into the relationship, and at times, at least in some analyses,
the

attention of both the patient and the analyst are directed to the

analyst's problems. However, it is on

the whole valid to describe
the analytic situation as one designed to focus attention on the
anxieties of the patient and to leave in the background the anxie-
ties of the therapist, so that when these do appear they are of

particular significance in terms of the relationship

itself.

Classification of countertransference responses

Using the above definition, we can attempt to classify the situ-

ations in analysis when anxiety-tinged processes are operating in

the analyst. The classification suggested below is not a clear-cut
separation of such situations, since the groups
shade off into
one another. Nor are any of the responses to be thought of as
entirely free of neurotic attitudes on the part
of the therapist.
Even in the most extreme examples of situational stress (where
ordinarily the analyst's response is thought of as being an ob-
jective response to the stress
rather than a neurotic response),

personal, characterological factors will color his response, as will

also the nature of his relationship with the patient. Take, for
instance, the situation where the analyst comes to his office in a
state of acute tension as the result of a quarrel with his wife.
With one patient he may remain preoccupied with his personal

troubles throughout the hour, while with another he may be able

shortly to bring his attention to the analytic situation. Something
in each patient's personality and method of production, and
in the analyst's response to each, has affected the analyst's be-
havior.
Anxiety-arousing situations in the patient-analyst interaction
have been classified as follows: (1) Situational factors that is,

reality factors such as intercurrent events in the analyst's life;

Countertransjerence and Anxiety 549

and also, social factors such as need for success and recognition
as a competent therapist. (2) Unresolved neurotic problems of
the therapist. (3) Communication of the patient's anxiety to the
therapist.

Sitaational Factors. This group of responses is, of course,

very much influenced by the character make-up of the doctor.
How much need for conformity to convention he retains will
influence his response to the patient who shouts loudly during
an analytic hour. But the response will also be affected by the
degree to which his officeis soundproof, whether there is another

patient in the waiting room, whether a colleague in an adjoining

office can overhear, and so on. So that, even leaving out the

private characterological aspect of the situation for the therapist,

there remains a sizable set of reality needs which, if threatened,
will lead to unanalytic behavior on his part.
The greatest number of these have to do with the physician's
role in our culture. There is a high value attached to the role
of successful physician. This is not, of course, confined to the
vague group of people known as the public; it is also actively

present in the professional colleagues. There is a reality need for

recognition of his competence by his colleagues, which has a
dollars and cents value as well as an emotional one. While it is
true that his reputation will not be made or broken by one
success or failure, it does not follow that a suicide or psychotic
breakdown in a patient does not represent a reality threat to
him. Consequently, he cannot be expected to handle such threat-
ening crises with complete equanimity. In addition to such a
reality need to be known as competent by his colleagues and
the public, there is a potent and valid need on the doctor's part
for creative accomplishment. This appears in the therapeutic
situation as an expectation of and a need to see favorable change
in the patient. It is entirely impossible for a therapist to partici-

pate in a treatment situation where the goal is improvement or

cure without suffering frustration, disappointment, and at times
anxiety when his efforts result in no apparent progress. Such situ-
ations are at times handled by therapists with the attitude, "Let
him stew in his own juice until he sees that he will have to
550 Mabel Blake Cohen

change," or by the belief that he, the doctor, must be making

an error which he does not understand and should redouble his
efforts. Frequently, the resolution of such a difficulty can be

achieved by the realization on the part of the therapist that his

reality fear of failure is keeping him from recognizing an im-
portant aspect of the patient's neurosis having to do with laying
the responsibility for his welfare on another's shoulders. The
reality fear of failure cannot be ignored but rather has to be
put up with, so to speak, since an attempt on the part of the
therapist to remove it by "making" the patient get well is bound
to increase the chances of failure.
Further introduced by the traditional cultural
difficulties are
definition of the healer's role that is, according to the Hippo-
cratic oath. The physician-healer is expected to play a fatherly or
even godlike role with his patient, in which he both sees through
him knows mysteriously what is wrong with his insides and
also takes responsibility for him. This magic-healer role has

heavy reinforcement from many of the personal motivations of

the analyst for becoming a physician and a psychotherapist.
These range from needs to know other people's secrets, as men-
tioned by Reich, to needs to cure oneself vicariously by curing
others, needs for magical power to cover up one's own feelings
of weakness and inadequacy, needs to do better than one's own
analyst. Unfortunately, some aspects of psychoanalytical train-
ing tend to reinforce the interpretation of the therapist as a
magically powerful person. The admonition, for instance, to be-
come a "mature character," while excellent advice, still carries
with a connotation of perfect adjustment and perhaps brings
it

pressure to bear on the trainee not to recognize his immaturities

or deficiencies. Even such precepts as to be a "mirror" or a
"surgeon" or "dedicated" emphasize the analyst's moral power
in relation to the patient and, still worse, institutionalize it as
good technique. Since the patient, too, enters the analytic situa-
tion with an inevitable belief in the analyst's power, it is re-
grettably easy for both persons to participate in a mutually grati-
fying relationship which satisfies the patient's dependency and
the doctor's need for power.
The main situations in the patient-doctor relationship which
Countertransference and Anxiety 551

undermine the therapeutic role and therefore may result in

anxiety in the therapist can be listed as follows: (a) When the
doctor is helpless to affect the patient's neurosis, (b) When the
doctor is treated consistently as an object of fear, hatred, criti-
cism, or contempt, (c) When the patient calls on the doctor for
advice or reassurance as evidence of his professional competence
or interest in the patient, (d) When the patient attempts to
establish a relationship of romantic love with the doctor, (e)
When the patient calls on the doctor for other intimacy.
To illustrate, I would like to use an example in which the
doctor's social role of taking responsibility for a sick person came
into conflict with the patient's therapeutic needs.

A young woman in analysis following a schizophrenic episode, had

periodically during several years of treatment become acutely dis-
turbed as the result of recurring conflicts in her relationship with her
mother. Her lifelong pattern, developed as early as five years of age,
had been to get into trouble in such a way that she was actually injured
and persecuted by others. The analyst was forced to play an active role
in the patient's affairs at such critical times in order to prevent realistic
catastrophes. One method of preventing self-injury was to make him-
self available to the patient by telephone whenever her tension was
such that she felt unable to carry on. He also used advice-giving about
how to handle specific situations to prevent her being kicked out of
college and discharged from a job. At the beginning of treatment,
this activity was, or seemed to be, necessary to prevent the patient's

complete failure and hospitalization. However, though she improved

and more and more of her psychotic character was modified by treat-
ment, the recurrent crises persisted with undiminished intensity and
seemed that the therapist must use the same means to prevent
it still

the same catastrophes. Eventually, the therapist decided, though

with severe misgivings about the danger of psychosis and with con-
siderable feeling that he was refusing to take a responsibility that he
had agreed to in becoming the patient's doctor in the first place, to
withdraw the supportive telephone conversations and the active advice-
giving in times of crisis. The patient throve, promptly took over the
management of the crises herself, and eventually went on to finish
her analysis with satisfactory result.

In this example there is probably some neurotic involvement

on the part of the therapist in that he was unable to discern the
552 Mabel Blake Cohen

point at which his patient became capable of handling her own

affairs and continued to think of a neurotic transference attitude
as still being an ego deficiency of psychotic severity. However,

the severity of the patient's illness and the correspondingly great

degree of real responsibility assumed by the doctor by virtue of
his taking the case acted as a second, more realistic, pressure
in preventing him from recognizing the time when she was ready
for more mature behavior.

Unresolved Neurotic Problems of the Therapist. This is

a subject on which it is very generalize since such

difficult to

problems will be different in every therapist. To be sure, there

are large general categories into which most therapists can be
classified, and hence there are certain over-all attitudes which

may be held in common, as for instance the category of the

obsessional therapist who still retainsremnants of a compulsive
need to be in control, or the masochistically overcorapensated
therapist who compulsively makes reparation to the patient, as
described by Little.
One may scrutinizeanalysts, from the top of the ladder to
all

the bottom, and, as obvious, will find characteristic types of

is

patients chosen and characteristic courses of analytic treatment

in each case. Gitelson seems to underweight this factor when
he says that the analyst "cannot deny his personality nor its

operation in the analytic situation as a significant factor. . . .

This is far from saying, however, that his personality is the chief
instrument of the therapy which we call psycho-analysis. There
is a great difference between the selection and playing of a role

and the awareness of the fact that one has found one's self cast
for a part. It is of primary importance for the analyst to conduct
himself so that the analytic process proceeds on the basis of
what the patient brings to it." 14
It is not the selection and playing of a role which creates the

countertransference problem of the average, relatively healthy

one habitually and incessantly plays a
analyst, but the fact that
role which is determined by one's character structure, so that

"Reference rootnote 13; p. 7,

Countertransjerence and Anxiety 553

one is at times handicapped from seeing and dealing with the

role in which one is cast by the patient.
A relatively simple example of transference-countertransfer-
ence distortion in a treatment situation will be used to illustrate
some of the problems. It was chosen largely because of its short
duration and simplicity.

Apatient arrives for his hour five minutes late. He reacts with
feelings of guilt and the expectation of being criticized. On arrival,
he notices a certain stiffness in the facial expression of the physician,
which is a hangover from a telephone conversation the physician was
having just before the patient's arrival. The patient, instead of in-
quiring whether the doctor is offended by his tardiness, immediately
plunges into an explanation of why it happened. The physician (who
is certainly not very alert at the moment) wonders why the patient

is responding in such a guilty manner to such a small offense, but

(being a person who likes to be thought of as kindly and who is

therefore inclined to become anxious when treated as a tyrant) does
not inquire but merely waits in silence for the patient to "get down
to business." The lack of response convinces the patient that the
physician is unmollified by his explanation. He thinks (but does not
say) that he had better produce some pretty good free associations
this hour to make up The hour goes on. The patient
for his lateness.
notices that he is dismissed two minutes early. (Up to this time, the
analyst is unaware that the patient is so upset, and the part played

by his facial expression in the sequence of events has also escaped

his notice.)
On the way home the patient begins to think that the early stopping
was a retaliation on the doctor's part for his lateness and resolves
to come early next time. He comes five minutes early for his next
appointment and the doctor is detained by his previous patient so
that he is not ready to start until five minutes after the scheduled
time. The patient now believes that the doctor's lateness which is
for the same amount of time as his own is deliberate, to continue
hour. A very tangled
punishing him for his tardiness the previous
emotional situation is the result. The patient has, he thinks, clear
him. The doctor has a
proof that the doctor is malicious toward
patient who is blocking, anxious, and resentful, without the ghost of
a notion why. Finally, at this point when the patient's blocking and
anxiety have become acute, the analyst makes
an inquiry and then
hears the patient's account of what happened.
554 Mabel Blake Cohen

apparent that, in order to deal with the distortions intro-

It is

duced by the patient, the doctor needs to be aware of the follow-

ing things: (a) that he has an unarniable expression on his face
when the patient arrives five minutes late for the first hour, and
(b) that he is annoyed (made anxious) by the patient's imputa-
tion of malice to him. If he were aware of (a), he would, per-
haps, be in a position to interrupt the fearful apologies of the
patient with a question as to why the patient thinks he is angry.
If he were unaware of (a) or did not think it wise to interrupt,
still if he were aware of his anxiety reaction (b), he would be in

a position to recognize that his annoyance at being apologized

to was leading to a somewhat sulky silence on his part. Once
this were within awareness, the annoyance could be expected to
lift and the therapeutic needs of the situation could then be

handled on their own merits.

Communication of the Patient's Anxiety to the Therapist This

is a most interesting and somewhat mysterious phenomenon which
is exhibited on occasion and perhaps more frequently than we
realize by both analysts and patients. It seems to have some
relationship to the process described as empathy. It is a well-
known fact that certain types of persons are literally barometers
for the tension-level of other persons with whom they are in
contact. Apparently cues are picked up from small shifts in
muscular tension as well as changes in voice tone. Tonal changes
are more widely recognized to provide such cues, as evidenced

by the common expression, "It wasn't what he said but the

way he said it." But there are numbers of instances where the
posture of a patient while walking into the consulting room gave
the cue to the analyst that anxiety was present, even though
there was no gross abnormality but merely a slight stiffness or
jerkiness to be observed. A
somewhat similar observation can
be made in supervised analyses, where the supervisee communi-
cates to the supervisor that he is in an anxiety-arousing situation
with the patient, not by the material he relates, but by some
appearance of increased tension in his manner of reporting.
It is a moot point whether anxiety responses of therapists in
situations where the anxiety is "caught" from the patient can be
Countertransference and Anxiety 555
considered to be entirely free of personal conflict on the part
of the analyst. It would seem probable that habitual alertness
to the tension-level of others, however desirable a trait in the

analyst, must have had its origins in tension-laden atmospheres

of the past, and hence must have specific personal
meaning to
the analyst.
The contagious aspects of the patient's anxiety have been most
often mentioned in connection with the treatment of psychotics.
In dealing with a patient whose defenses are those of violent
counter-aggression, most analysts experience both fear and anx-
iety. The fear is on a relatively rational basis the danger of
actually suffering physical hurt. The anxiety derives from (a)
retaliatory impulses toward the attacker, (b) wounded self-
esteem that one's helpful intent is so misinterpreted by the pa-
tient,and (c) a sort of primitive envy of or identification with
the uncontrolled venting of violent feelings. It has been found
by experience in attempting to treat such patients that the thera-
pistcan function at a more effective level if he is encouraged to
be aware of and handle consciously his irrational responses to
the patient's violence.
A milder variant of this response can frequently be found in
office practice. It can be noted that when affect of more than
usual intensity enters the treatment situation the analyst tends
to interrupt the patient. This interruption may take any one of
a variety of forms, such as a relevant question, an interpretative
remark, a reassuring remark, a change of subject. Whatever its
content, it has the effect of diluting the intensity of feeling being
expressed and/or shifting the trend of the associations. This, of
course, is technically desirable in some instances, but when it
occurs automatically, without awareness and therefore without
consideration of whether it is desirable or not, its occurrence
must be attributed to uneasiness in the analyst. Ruesch and Prest-
wood 15 have made an extended
study of the phenomenon of
communication of patients' anxiety to the therapist, in which
they demonstrated that the communication is much more posi-
tively correlated with the tonal and expressive qualities of speech
10
f urgen Ruesch and A. Rodney Prestwood, "Anxiety," Arch. Neurol. and
Psychiat. (1949) 62:1-24.
556 Mabel Blake Cohen

than with the verbal content. Such factors as rate of speech,

frequency of use of personal pronouns, frequency of expressions
of feeling, and so on, showed significant variations in the anxious
patient as contrasted with either the relaxed or the angry patient.
In this study, the subjective responses of a number of psychiatrists
while listening to sections of recorded interviews varied sig-
nificantly according to the emotional tone of the
material. A
relaxed interview elicited a relaxed response in the listening
psychiatrists; the anxious interviews were responded to with a

variety of subjective feelings, from being ill-at-ease to being dis-

turbed or angry.
These uncomfortable responses, coupled with numerous types
of avoidance behavior on the part of the analyst, such as those
mentioned above, appear to occur much more frequently than has
been hitherto realized. It is difficult to detect them except by an
"ear witness," since the therapist himself will usually be unable
to report them subsequent to an hour. They were noticed to
occur frequently in a study of intensive psycho-therapy by ex-
perienced analysts which was carried out by means of recorded
interviews. 16
In this particular type of anxious response on the part of the
analyst, the chances seem particularly good that careful self-
observation will give the therapist more information about what
is going on with the patient. This would be even more useful if

further classification of these responses were made and the study

of recorded interviews included in the training of analysts.

A young man with a severe character neurosis entered treatment

and lost no time in convincing his therapist of the urgency of his
need for it. However, his attitude was also that of a person who
was about to depart. He gave the doctor to understand that he was
highly skeptical of the value of treatment, that the concept of free
association seemed like nonsense to him, and that his interest in
keeping his appointments was of the slightest. His analyst found him-
self involved in trying to show the patient, by his work, what was
the use and meaning of psychoanalysis. He felt on trial, and as

10
Alexander Halperin, Edward M. Ohaneson, Otto A. Will, Mabel B.
Cohen, and Robert A. Cohen, "A Personality Study of Successful Naval
Officers," unpublished report to the Office o Naval Research.
Countertransference and Anxiety 557

though he would have to be careful not to make the patient too

anxious lest he abandon his effort to help himself and discontinue
treatment. The analyst also found himself offering the patient re-
assurance, against his better judgment. This pattern of the doctor's
being on tenterhooks and the patient's being always on the point of
withdrawal first made the analyst uncomfortable and discouraged,
and then eventually came to his conscious notice. Thereupon, he was
able to observe that the patient was in fact intensely attached to
treatment and had no remote intention of withdrawing. However, the
threat of withdrawal had been since childhood the patient's chief
means of elicitingsympathy, concern, and attention from the signifi-
cant adults in his This defense had worked equally well with the
life.

analyst until the analyst noticed his apprehension and insecurity with
the patient. Following this, the defensive withdrawal proved to be
analyzable.

In a similar way, it seems that the patient applies great pressure

to the analyst in a variety of nonverbal ways to behave like the
significant adults in the patient's earlier life. It is not merely a
matter of the patient's seeing the analyst as like his father, but of
his actually manipulating the relationship in such a way as to
elicit the same kind of behavior from the analyst. Conscious use

of one's observations of how one fits in with the patient's needs

can therefore be a fruitful source of information about the
patient's patterns of interaction.

Methods of Handling Countertransference Responses. Pro-

vided one accepts the hypothesis that even successfully analyzed
therapists are still continually involved in countertransference
attitudes toward their patients, the question arises: What can be
done with such reactions in the therapeutic situation? Experi-
ence indicates that the less intense anxiety responses, where the
discomfort is within awareness, can be quickly handled by an
experienced and not too neurotic analyst. These are probably
But where
chiefly the situational or reality stimuli to anxiety.
awareness is by the occurrence of a wide variety
interfered with
of defensive operations, is there anything to be done? Is the
analyst capable of ids^tffyiag such anxiety-laden attitudes in
himself and proceedi&g; to work them out? Certainly there are
such extreme situates** that *he aaalyst unaided cannot handle
 558 Mabel Blake Cohen
them and must seek discussion with a colleague or further ana-
lytic help for himself. However, there is a wide intermediate
ground where alertness to clues or signals that all is not well
may be sufficient to start the analyst on a process of self-resolu-
tion of the difficulty.
The following is a tentative and necessarily incomplete list
of situations which may provide a clue to the analyst that he
is involved anxiously or
defensively with the patient. It includes
signals that I have found useful in my own work and in super-
vision, but it probably could be added to by others according
to their particular experience.

The analyst has an unreasoning dislike for the patient.

( 1 )

(2) The analyst cannot identify with the patient, who seems un-
real or mechanical. When the patient reports that he is upset, the

analyst feels no emotional response.

(3) The analyst becomes overemotional in regard to the patient's
troubles.
(4) The analyst likes the patient excessively, feels that he is his
best patient.

(5) The analyst dreads the hours with a particular patient or is

uncomfortable during them.

(6) The analyst is preoccupied with the patient to an unusual
degree in intervals between hours and may find himself fantasying
questions or remarks to be made to the patient.
(7) The analyst finds it difficult to pay attention to the patient.
He goes to sleep during hours, becomes very drowsy, or is pre-
occupied with personal affairs.
(8) The analyst is habitually late with a particular patient or
shows other disturbance in the time arrangement, such as always
running over the end of the hour.
(9) The analyst gets into arguments with the patient.
(10) The analyst becomes defensive with the patient or exhibits
unusual vulnerability to the patient's criticism.
(11) The patient seems to consistently misunderstand the analyst's
interpretations or never agrees with them. This is, of course, quite
often correctly interpreted as resistance on the part of the patient,
but it may also be the result of a countertransference distortion on
the part of the analyst such that his interpretations actually are wrong.
(12) The analyst tries to elicit affect from the patient for instance,
by provocative or dramatic statements.
Counter'transference and Anxiety 559

(13) The analyst is over-concerned about the confidentiality of his

work with the patient (Fromm-Reichmann, personal communication).
(14) The analyst is angrily sympathetic with the patient regard-
ing his mistreatment by some authority figure (Fromm-Reichmarm,
personal communication).
(15) The analyst feels impelled to do something active (Gitelson).
(16) The analyst appears in the patient's dreams as himself, or
the patient appears in the analyst's dreams (Gitelson).

In discussing this list, I would like to recapitulate briefly some

of the points mentioned earlier in the paper. It becomes apparent
that in order to broaden the scope of psychoanalytic therapy,
to expedite and make more efficient the analytic process, and
to increase our knowledge of the dynamics of interaction, ways
and means of studying the transference-countertransference as-
pects of treatment need to be developed. It is my opinion that
this can best be accomplished by setting up the hypothesis that
countertransference phenomena are present in every analysis.
This is in agreement with the position of Herman and Little.
These phenomena are probably frequently either ignored or re-
pressed, partly because of a lack of knowledge of what to do
with them, partly because analysts are accustomed to deal with
them in various nonverbal ways, and partly because they are
sufficiently provocative of anxiety in the therapist to produce one
or another kind of defense reaction. However, since the success-
fully analyzed psychotherapist has tools at his command for recog-
nizing and resolving defensive behavior via the development of
greater insight, the necessity for suppressing or repressing counter-
transference responses is not urgent. Where the analyst delib-
erately searches for recognition and understanding of his own
difficulties in the interrelationship, his first observation is likely to
be that he has an attitude similar to one of those mentioned in
the above list. With this as a signal, he may then, by further

noticing in the analytic situation what particular aspects of the

patient's behavior stimulate such responses in him, eventually
find a way of bringing such behavior out into the open for
scrutiny, communication, and eventual resolution. For instance,
sleepiness in the analyst is very frequently an unconscious ex-

preswn of resentment at the emotional barrenness of the patient's

560 Mabel Blake Cohen

communication, pethaps springing from a feeling of helplessness

on the part of the analyst. When the analyst recognizes that he
is sleepy as a retaliation for his patient's uncommunicativeness,
and that he is making this response because, up to now, he has
been unable to find a more effective way of handling it, the
precipitating factorthe uncommunicativeness can be investi-
gated as a problem.
In addition to this use of his responses as a clue to the mean-
ing of the behavior of the patient, the analyst is also constantly
in need of using his observations of himself as a means of further
resolution of his own difficulties. For instance, an analyst who
had doubts of his intellectual ability habitually overvalued and
competed with his more intelligent patients. This would become
particularly accentuated when he was trying to treat patients who
themselves used intellectual achievement as protection against
fears of being overpowered. Thus the analyst, as the result of
his overestimation of such a patient's capacity, would fail to
make ordinary garden-variety interpretations, believing that these
must be obvious to such a bright person. Instead, he would exert
himself to point out the subtler manifestations of the patient's
neurosis, with the result that there would be much interesting
talk but little change in the patients.
This type of error can go unnoticed while the analyst learns
eventually that he is unable to treat successfully certain types of
patients. However,can also be slowly and gradually rectified
it

as the result of further experience. In such a case, the analyst

is learning on a nonverbal level. However, if some such signal

as finding himself fantasying questions or remarks to put to the

patient in the next hour is noted by the analyst, he then has the
means of expediting and bringing into full awareness the self*
scrutiny which can lead to resolution.
It will be noted that the focus of attention of these remarks

is on the analyst's own self-scrutiny, both of his responses to

the patient's behavior and of his defensive attitudes and actions.
Much has been said by others (Heiman, Little, Gitelson) regard-
ing the pros and cons of introducing discussion of countertrans-
fereiice material into the analytic situation itself. That, however,
\ a question which, in my opinion, it is not possible to answer in
Counter transference and Anxiety 561

the present state of our knowledge. Rather, it is my intent here

to discuss the possible ways and means of improving the analyst's
awareness of his own participation in the patient-analyst inter-
action and of improving his ability to clearly formulate this to
himself (or to an observer). It would seem more feasible to
devise techniques for utilizing such material in the therapeutic
situation after the area has been more precisely explored and
studied or, rather, concurrently with further study and explor-
ation.
One further point might be added regarding the contrast be-
tween the subjective experience of the analyst when anxiety is
not present and when it is. When anxiety is not present, he may
experience a feeling of being at ease, of accomplishing something,
of grasping what the patient is trying to communicate. Certainly
in periods when progress is being made, something of the same

feeling is shared by the patient, even though he may at the same

time be working through troubled areas. Perhaps the loss of the
feeling that communication is going on is the most commonly
used signal which starts the analyst on a search for what is going
wrong.

Conclusions

The study of countertransference responses provides a rich

field for the further investigation of the doctor-patient relation-

ship in psychoanalysis and intensive psychotherapy. This is made

more feasible by the possibility of using recordings of interviews
both as research tools and as training adjuncts. As the therapist
increases his awareness of the nature of his participation with
the patient both on the basis of his own emotional needs and
on the basis of the roles cast for him by the patient his thera-
peutic management of the interaction can
become more precise
and the range of neurotic problems which he is able to tackle
can be expected to increase.
 The Psychoanalytic Process

The psychoanalytic process, what actually occurs in therapy, has

been sparsely described in the literature. The paper by Maslow
and Mittelmann is a coherent account of an analytic process. It
needs to be noted, however, that no one account can be taken as
<a prototype, since each psychoanalysis will necessarily be differ-

ent depending on the nature of the patient and on the theoretical

orientationand the personal style of the analyst,
It is a challenging fact that successful therapeutic work is

done by analysts using various theories. This suggests that there

are factors involved which have little or nothing to do with the
theoretical persuasion of the analyst. It is necessary therefore to
determine which of the many operations of the analyst are truly
therapeutic. An attempt to simplify and put into operational terms
the processes that occur in the analytic situation is made in Rado*s
paper. Operational formulations of the kind proposed by Rado
offer a means for retesting some of the basic propositions of psy-

choanalysis.
 33

A. H.MASLOW AND
BELA MITTELMANN

Psychoanalytic Therapy*

Method of Procedure

The most common practice is that the patient comes five times a
week on consecutive days, that he lies on the couch, and that the
analyst sits at the head of the couch outside the patient's range
of vision. However, the procedure has become more elastic in
the last fifteen years, and the patient may come three or four
times a week and may have the choice of sitting across the desk
from the analyst or lying down. Some investigators maintain that
with some patients equally significant material and equal thera-
peutic results can be obtained by spacing the interviews once
a week or even less frequently (Alexander, Hahn-Kende).
The patient is instructed to tell the analyst everything that
enters mind, regardless of whether it is embarrassing or
his

foolish, or whether it refers to his attitudes toward the analyst.

These thoughts usually include events of the previous day, his
complaints, his reactions, and his dreams. The analyst then in-
terprets to the patient the meanings of and the reasons for his
reaction patterns. The most of the talking,
patient, as a rule, does
in a spontaneous manner, during the hour. Continuity and gen-
eral uniformity of procedure are important. At the same time,
the setup is elastic; the analyst may, for various reasons, bring
certain topics to the fore and vary different aspects of the pro-
cedure.
*
Reprinted by permission from Principles of Abnormal Psychology, by
A. H. Maslow and Bela Mittelmann. Copyright, 1941, 1951, by Harper &
Brothers.
565
566- A. H. Maslow and Bela Mittelmann

Significance of frequent interviews and of the procedure

There are important reasons for the above procedure. Only if

the patientis seen frequently can the analyst obtain all the
data

necessary for interpretations and convey them

to the patient
the events of the
safely and effectively. The connection between
and his to them are still fresh in the pa-
preceding day responses
tient'smind, and he can tell them to the analyst without difficulty.
Furthermore, events can be disturbing to the patient, and
he is
does not see him within a day or two
likely to suffer if the analyst
to interpret his reactions. The problem of the frequency of visits
mentioned previously is an individual one. With the majority of
there may be no significant
patients, during most of the treatment,
difference in the information obtained and the therapeutic effect
between five, four, and three visits a week. With
accomplished
some patients, or at some periods of any treatment, raising the
number of visits from three to four may make the difference be-
tween the treatment being stalled and moving ahead construc-
tively. Frequent visits are indispensable
with (1) patients show-
with which
ing intense emotional reactions, particularly anxiety,
they cannot cope without seeing the analyst daily, and (2) pa-
tients who are inclined to be detached and also have involved

ways of displacement and substitution. On the other hand, daily

visits become somewhat burdensome for patients who move at a
somewhat slow pace, adequate for three or four hours per week
but not quite for five. Any of these situations may arise at periods

in the course of the analysis.

The on a couch because he can relax more com-
patient lies
pletely and mind go" with greater ease. Moreover, this
"let his
for him at
posture may assume changing emotional implications
various periods of the analysis e.g., helplessness, submission,

dependence, humiliation. On the other hand, sitting up is of

distinct advantage with very anxious patients who need the close-
ness of supportive contact represented by seeing the analyst or
for whom the submissive-dependent implication of lying on the
couch, together with the defenselessness, is too great a threat.
Still other patients are so much inclined to go off into fantasy
Psychoanalytic Therapy 567
without the reality-testing implied by seeing the analyst as a real
person that their anxiety mounts or they maintain their aloof
detachment and use the analysis without ever carrying the in-
sights of the analysis into practice. Still other patients present
a combination of anxiety, depression, detachment, and inhibition;
these patients give inadequate verbal material, and the revelations
from changes in their facial expressions become indispensable for
the analyst. Again, all the situations mentioned may arise at cer-
tain periods in the course of the analysis (Fenichel,
Mittelmann) .

The fact that the analyst is out of sight enables the patient to talk
more easily about embarrassing and humiliating thoughts and
feelings.
The frequency of interpretation varies considerably in practice.
Some analysts prefer not to make any comment for weeks or even
months; if the patient is silent, the analyst waits until the
patient
takes the initiative of talking, even if this means silence
during
most of the hour. Other analysts make interpretative comments
during most, even the first few, hours as soon assomething is
clear to the analyst and, in his judgment, can be gotten across to
the patient; in case of prolonged silences, they ask the patient
questions to enable him to go on with the work. For many pa-
tients,these differences in the relative activity of the analysts do
not matter greatly. Other patients apparently can hardly progress
with their problems without active stimulus, of the type men-
tioned, on the part of the analyst.

Role of free association

"Letting one's mind go" is usually referred to as "free associa-

tion." This is a different "set" from that which the
patient has
when he applies himself to a given task deliberately. The feelings
and thoughts that arise during free association are determined,

just as thoughts and activities are determined when the individual

is bent on accomplishing a task with conscious effort. The mood

of free association is similar to that of daydreaming. It is mostly

the patient's wishes, needs, hopes, fears, and angers that guide the
flow of thoughts and f esiings.
In analysis there are certain determining factors: the patient
568 A. H. Maslow and Bela Mittelmann

comes to the analyst for help, but definite expectations as

he has
to how the help is to be extended. He
has definite reactions both
to everything the analyst says and to events in his daily life while
he is relating them to the analyst. Because many of these thoughts
and impulses are such that the patient is ashamed of them or
afraid of their consequences, he would exclude them, shut them
out of awareness, if he chose topics for conversation as deliber-
ately as he would set about solving a mathematical problem. . . .

Role of dreams

Dreams are psychological products which represent a person's

reactions to his daily experiences. They express psychological
with ade-
forces, the nature of which can be clearly determined
quate methods of investigation. As we shall see, the dream is a
source of significant information in the analysis; Freud called it
"the royal road to the unconscious."
Dreams can be that is, an analyst can state both the
interpreted;
event that caused
response they represent and the underlying
them. In analyzing dreams, the analyst follows the patient's as-
sociations or asks him to tell what comes to his mind in connec-
tion with the dream. He follows this same procedure with each
element of the dream. Adequate interpretation is possible only
ifthe analyst knows the patient well, the circumstances under
which the dream occurred, the events preceding it, and the pa-
tient's immediate reactions to them.

The psychological forces expressed in dreams are mostly emo-

tional and often Frequently they are of a forbidden
irrational.

character; that is, in them are embodied the impulses hostile

and sexual impulses, attitudes of dependence, feelings of humilia-

tion, fear, and guilt which a person fears punishment and

for
about which he Even when an individual succeeds in
feels guilty.

maintaining a smooth front and convincing himself that his be-

havior is serene and sensible, his dreams may furnish information
which reveals difficulties. Thus a man who feels perfectly calm
well and is ade-
during the day may tell the analyst that he feels
quately adjusted, but he may have nightmares which indicate dis-
turbances,
 Therapy 569
Dreams frequently represent an attitude or idea graphically and
often embody the phenomenon of so-called condensation. For
example, one patient who was afraid to discuss a certain topic
dreamed that he was standing panic-stricken at the edge of a
precipice. Near him was a person in whom were combined the
features of the analyst, of a former employer who had been ex-
tremely harsh, and of a very severe teacher who by failing him in
high school had caused him one of the unhappiest incidents in his
life. Thus in this patient's reaction to the current
analytic situation
was condensed the memory of two previous experiences.
Some interesting experiments have been done on syrnbolizalion
in dreams. Schrotter hypnotized a woman and discussed a homo-
sexual incident with her. After she was awakened, she remem-
bered dreaming that she had seen a woman carrying a traveling
bag which was labeled "For women only." Betlheim and Hart-
mann told stories with a sexual content to patients suffering from
Korsakoff syndrome (memory disturbance with confabulation).
When asked to repeat the stones, the patients gave a distorted
version; for example, instead of the sexual event, people jumped
up and down a stairway. Similar symbolizations occur in dreams.
Displacement is also frequent.
Not all dreams are analyzable; that is, the analyst is sometimes
unable to construct a sound interpretation when the situation is
so involved that the patient finds it difficult or is unconsciously
reluctant to reveal some of his attitudes. Whether everyone
dreams every night is, of course, impossible to answer because of
the lack of adequate proof, although recent work with electro-
encephalograms gives some indication that at least some periods
of sleep are dreamless. Unquestionably, however, a person may
dream and not remember it. This is shown in the instances in
which a sleeping individual says something which someone else
hears. Often these remarks are analyzable and can be interpreted
like the dream. An analyst's patient was once heard by his wife
to say in his sleep, "That's nonsense. I know as much as you do."
This man's attitude toward the analyst was at the time character-
ized by rivalry and an attempt to show that his knowledge was
as great as the analyst's.
The duration of the average dream cannot be stated with cer^
570 A. H. Maslow and Bela Mtttelmann

tainty.Both accidental and experimental observations show, how-

ever, that, on the basis of the dreamer's recollections after he
wakes, an amazing amount can happen and an exceedingly long
period of time can be covered in an extremely short time from
the observer's point of view. Maury's experience is a famous ex-
ample. Once, while he was ill in bed, a piece of board fell and hit
him on the back of his neck as he slept. His mother, who was
him, noticed that he woke immediately. As he
sitting beside
waked up, he remembered a long dream in which he was cap-
tured in the French Revolution, brought before the tribunal, sen-
tenced to be guillotined, and then guillotined.

Data Obtained by the Psychoanalytic Method

Certain data can be obtained through psychoanalysis that as yet

cannot be obtained in full by any other method of investigation.

Conscious and unconscious types of data

Obviously, the analyst can obtain information from the patient

only if the latter tells him something or behaves in a certain

way. Under other circumstances he may surmise, on the basis of

his general knowledge and previous experience, that certain types
of information will be forthcoming from the patient even when
it is not yet available and the evidence for it is not yet obvious.

Such information, however, becomes definite data only after the

patient can talk about it or show it in his behavior. It is clear from

this that the patient has various degrees of consciousness concern-

ing the information that he eventually imparts in the course of

the analytic treatment. Sometimes, because of shame or guilt,
the patient withholds information from the analyst, although he
knows it is important and that he should speak about it. Several

weeks or months may pass before he imparts the information.

At times the patient knows that it is important to tell of the
events of the previous day, his reactions to them, and his dreams,
but does not because he feels that he ought to have a full under-
standing of and insight into all of his reactions before he speakst
Psychoanalytic Therapy 57 j
about them to the analyst. In such instances the
patient's feeling
of worthlessness and his extreme need to establish his worth in his
own eyes and in those of the analyst bar the way to his imparting
significant information.
At other times the patient reveals something in his behavior but
cannot account for it; even when the analyst
interprets it, the
patient is not at first aware of his motivations.
In still other instances the patient knows about an event that
occurred the previous day, but does not speak about it at first,
although he does talk about symptoms that are closely connected
with it. Later in the hour, or often on direct questioning by the
analyst,he relates it, and the significance of the event then be-
comes manifest. In such instances the patient does not impart the
information because, for emotional reasons, he does not recognize
the connection between his complaints and the event.
The last two situations namely, when the patient imparts
some information but cannot account for it, and when he does
not mention pertinent happenings or mentions them but does not
see the interrelation between them and his reactions are com-
mon in analysis. There is still another situation which is usual and

very significant: the patient agrees to "tell everything" to the

analyst, but he cannot, simply because he is entirely unaware of
some impulses which have a very important role in his difficulties.
The conscious and unconscious data obtained by psychoanaly-
sis can be classified as follows:

Need for Dependence and Complete Care. There are extreme

cases in which patients will want the analyst to be with them
twenty-four hours a day, instruct them on how to behave, and
handle by direct action every situation in business or at home.

Hostile Impulses Directed Toward Others. These include reac-

and the desire to injure, humiliate, destroy,
tions of anger, rivalry,
or triumph over others to the point of deriving pleasure from
cruelty.

Destructive Impulses Directed Toward Oneself. These include

the impulse to injure and humiliate oneself, the attitude of self-
572 A. H. Maslow and Bela Mittelmann

contempt, the desire to submit, to be exploited, and to be physi-

cally injured by another.

A schoolteacher undertook analytic treatment because of dissatis-

faction with his lovelife. He was always calm; his philosophy was one

of "serenity and nonparticipation" in all significant life situations. He

had dreams in which he humbly scrubbed the bathroom floor of
a famous educator, but he was unaware in his daily life of the self-

humiliating attitude represented by this type of dream.

Ambition, Desire for Accomplishment, Pride

This same teacher never admitted any ambition to advance him-
work. He changed positions several times, but only, as
self in his
he put it, "to be able to work less for more pay." Considerable analytic
work was necessary to make him realize that his apparent lack of
ambition was due to his feeling of helplessness and his unconscious
fear of dismal failure if he ever strove for success. To escape the
conflict between ambition and fear of failure, he adopted an exag-

gerated attitude of "serenity and nonparticipation."

Desire for Closeness, Affection, Love, and Warmth

This same man never allowed himself to become fully attached to
anyone. He was married, but he said that he had chosen a woman who
was self-supporting and would therefore not be dependent upon him.
He opposed her desire to have a child because this would tie him to
her. After the tenth month of analysis his emotional condition was
characterized by a vague fear and general discomfort. This occurred
after situations in which he felt comfortable, congenial, and emo-

tionally close to someone. He soon realized that his feeling of fear

resulted from his desire for closeness. In other words, he did not lack
the desire for closeness and affection; he was really afraid of them.
Of the several reasons for his fear, only one will be mentioned here.
His desire was so exaggerated that if he yielded to it, he feared there
would be no bounds to what he would do. He would kiss people on
the street, would even submit to them sexually. He would be subject
to utter humiliation and would be effaced as an individual. Rather
than this, he chose (unconsciously) to be emotionally detached,
serene, and nonparticipating.
Psychoanalytic Therapy 573

Attitudes of Seperiority; Self-Aggrandizing Trends* The pa-

tient who shows these trends not only wants to be respected and
esteemed; he often has the need to consider himself superior to
other individuals in some attribute.

A thirty-year-old man was unusually talented in music, art, and

science; but he never followed through any pursuit, partly because
he felt that any accomplishment, even becoming a famous con-
cert artist, would not do justice to his potentialities. Both his self-
disparaging and his self-aggrandizing trends manifested themselves
strikingly in the analysis. He felt that the analyst was superior to him
in every respect; but unless he could consider himself superior in
some way, he woijM not be able to go on with the analysis. In his
desperate need for help he finally hit on a solution: He was able to
feel superior to the analyst because he (the patient) could trace his
ancestry back six generations, whereas the analyst could not. This
solution, however, was charged with serious conflict for him. Not
until four months after he became conscious of this attitude did he
tell the analyst about it because he was afraid that the analyst would

discharge him and this in spite of the fact that he knew very well
that in analysis one talks about everything that comes to mind.

Oral, Genital, and Excretory Impulses and Fantasies. Various

bodily functions constitute a natural and indispensable part of
everyone's existence. Even so, many people have conflicts about
the forms of bodily functions that are approved of by their

society. Frequently the individual has impulses and desires thaf

are strongly disapproved of both by and by himself,
his society
The conflicts over such impulses are extremely severe. They may
appear as conscious desires and fantasies accompanied by strong
discomfort, or they may be entirely unconscious.
Thus a woman may have unconscious impulses to behave as a
prostitute or to deprive a man of his masculinity. Other such im-
pulses are expressed in unconscious fantasies of a woman being
a man, of urinating on other individuals with the intent to humili-
ate them, or of committing incest. Such impulses are shut out of
awareness because of shame, self-condemnation, fear of disap-
proval, fear of consequences, or guilt feelings.
574 A. H. Maslow and Eela Mittelmann

Memories and Reactions of Childhood. Childhood memories

generally fall into one of two classes: which the
(1) Incidents
about
patient has forgotten so completely that even if he thought
a particular period in his life, he still would not be able to remem-
ber them, even though they disturbed him greatly at the time and
had a significant influence on hisdevelopment. The memory of
sexual seduction by an adult is such an incident.

A successful businessman who, although he was in love with his

wife, drank periodically when he visited and who had

prostitutes
periods of depression, finally remembered what
he had "forgotten";
he had been repeatedly seduced by a maid when he was three and
one-half years old, and he had greatly feared his parents* disapproval
and punishment. The feelings of fear and guilt, the resentment toward
the maid, and his conflicts about his parents had a strong influence on
his development.

(2) Incidents which the patient remembers,

but certain aspects
cf which are either completely blotted out at first or, if remem-
the treat-
bered, are not told to the analyst until relatively late in
ment.

A gifted musicianwas being given analysis because of recent diffi-

culties in his many months he told the analyst that he had
work. For
been devoted to his mother, had loved and admired her. He had felt
no grief over her death, which occurred when he was nineteen. In fact,
not until a certain period in the analysis was he emotionally aware of
the fact that she was dead. He first said that his mother had treated
the children with devotion, understanding, and care, but later he
related the following incident: When he was five and one-half years
old, he whipped a horse to see him jump. His mother, finding
this out,

took the whip out of his hand and said, "I want you to feel what
you are doing to the horse." With this, she whipped him. The patient
was deeply disturbed, and the analyst remarked that he must have
been angry at his mother. Only after considerable work was the
analyst able to make him realize that he had ever had any feelings of
resentment toward her. The patient had not "forgotten" the incident
of the whipping. If he thought of that period of his childhood, he
could always recall it; but he wanted to isolate it and not connect
it with the picture he had of his relationship with his mother. He

had a need to keep this relationship free from any flaw on the part of
his mother, and free from any anger on his part
Psychoanalytic Therapy 575

Most frequently the childhood memories which are more fully

recovered in the analysis and whose significance is fully eluci-
dated fall into the second class. Whichever type of memory it is,
it
usually deals with attitudes of hostility and sexual activities
which have been partly or completely repressed because of guilt
and the fear of punishment and a loss of love.

Emotions and Attitudes of Fear and Guilt. The patients are

partly or completely unconscious of certain attitudes because they
consider them dangerous. The danger that they anticipate may be
that of being deprived of help and gratification, or injured or
destroyed, or utterly humiliated, exploited, disgraced, and con-
demned by others as well as by themselves. These fears arise par-

ticularly in connection with reactions of hostility, self-destruction,

forbidden sexual attitudes, and rivalry. It is important to realize
that the attitudes of fear and guilt may themselves not be known
to the patient. He represses them for several reasons. He wants
to protect himself against the feared consequences of these im-
pulses; he can do this even more by shutting his feelings of fear
and guilt out of awareness. Further, these latter feelings are
extremely distressing, sometimes actually incapacitating. The pa-
tient tries to attain a state of comfort and to maintain his ability

to function by repressing them. It is extremely important in analy-

sis to uncover such reactions and make the patient realize their
significance. They form an important part of the data obtained
through psychoanalysis.

A social worker, aged twenty-nine, entered upon analysis when his

marriage was threatened with dissolution. His wife wanted to leave
him because of his continued emotional distance. This man was usu-
ally calm and aloof in all life situations. Although he maintained in

the analysis that he was undisturbed, that his calmness showed genu-
ine strength, and that it was the right way of living, he often had

frightening dreams in which he was shot at or elevators fell while he

was riding in them.
576 A, H. Maslow and Bela Mittelmann

Working Concepts

Working concepts are assumptions based on observations,

which attempt to establish interrelations between isolated observa-
tions and which furnish the practitioner with tools that enable
him to deal with the phenomena he encounters. It is convenient
to group psychoanalytic working concepts in the following
classes: (1) concepts which influence chiefly the practice of the
analysis itself, and which are closely connected with the method
of procedure; (2) concepts which are constantly used in psycho-
analytic practice, but which have wide application in the study
of psychology and psychopathology; (3) concepts which systema-
tize a large body of observations and in which the element of

assumption is greatest. These last will be called hypotheses.

Concepts influencing chiefly the practice of analysis

The Patient's Need for Help. The need for help is the patient's
strongest reason for beginning and continuing analytic treatment.
This need, the hope of fulfilling it, and the actual experience of
relief make himwilling to persist even when some of the analyst's
comments are distressing. The patient tells the analyst particularly
about his weaknesses and disabilities, and he usually expects the
analyst to concentrate on them and not on his achievements.
However, it does not follow that he is happy to find out the rea-
sons for his difficulties and eager to correct them as quickly as
possible.On the contrary, he has his own emotional needs and
ideas of the kind of help he should be given, and he clings to
them persistently. If the help offered differs from what he wants,
he reacts strongly; resentment, disappointment, fear, humiliation,
and self-condemnation follow. He again requests the type of help
which he felt was refused him before. All these reactions are the
ultimate results of his feeling of helplessness.
The analyst is constantly aware of the patient's suffering and
of his need for help. In some very precarious situations, as when
there is danger of suicide or of incapacity, his most immediate
Psychoanalytic Therapy 577

task Is to give the patient relief by some means. More generally,

however, the concept of the patient's need for help has a long-
range significance for the analyst. It is on the basis of this assump-
tion that he denies many of the patient's requests, such as a set
of rules for his conduct, and that he points out reaction patterns
to the patient e.g., hostility, or the need for exclusive affection
and care although he knows that the immediate effect will be
disturbing. It is obvious from this that the working assumption of
the patient's need for help is quite different for the analyst than
for the patient. The aims of analytic therapy and the factors oper-
ating in achieving these aims will be discussed in the section on
practical application. Here we wish to show that the working con-
cept of the patient's need for help influences every activity which
occurs in the analysis.

Reaction Patterns. During the analytic interview the patient

reacts to occurrences in his daily life and to experiences. These
reactions can be interpreted to him, and they can be further used
as a yardstick for gauging the progress of the analysis. The ana-
lyst considers the analysis as progressing satisfactorily if the pa-
tient is furnishing adequate data for such interpretations, and if

he can utilize these interpretations in his further reactions. All

types of reactions are of significance in the analysis, including

attitudes of disparagement toward the analyst. Reactions of fear,
attitudes of superiority toward the analyst, emotional withdrawal,
are all significant and useful if they are clear and if they can be
utilized for interpretation. If reactions are not clear, the analyst's
first task is to determine what is responsible for the lack of clarity;

in other words, this lack is itself considered and is dealt with as

a reaction pattern.

Essential Identity of the Patient's Reactions to Daily Events

and to the Analyst. The patient displays the same patterns of be-
havior toward the analyst as he does toward people and his work;
many of these patterns are emotional and irrational. Examination
and discussion of the patient's reactions to the analyst give im-
portant clues as to the needs and motivations which are responsi-
ble for the illness.
578 A. H. Maslow and Bela Mittelmann

Examination of the patient's emotional reaction to the analyst

is important for another reason. In spite of the latter's essentially
kind, understanding, and helpful attitude, the patient often reacts
:o him with anger, fear, and a feeling of humiliation. The reasons
for these reactions lie within the patient; the reactions are trans-
ferred by him to the analyst, a phenomenon commonly known as
"transference." Because of the working concept of the transfer-
ence, the analyst constantly considers what reactions the patient
isdisplaying toward him and calls his attention to them. This is

one of the most important aspects of analytic work.

The question is often raised as to how it is possible for the
patient to have the same attitudes toward the analyst as he does
toward other people in his daily life his family, friends, co-
workers when he knows that his relationship with the analyst
has definite limitations. The phenomenon becomes understand-
able, however, if we realize that the patient undergoes analysis
because he feels helpless; this undertaking is of great significance
for him. He feels in need of help; with this he immediately dis-
plays the reasons for his need, his needs and ideas of how help
is to be given him, his conflicts about these needs and desires, and

his fear of the individual from whom he wants them. Further-

more, when the analyst denies him his requests and desires, he
reacts to this just as he reacts to denials in other situations. When
the analyst makes interpretations which inevitably cut deep and
concern vital needs, he reacts to them as he does to stresses and
to threats to his vital needs in life situations. Further aspects of
the patient's emotional, irrational attitudes toward the analyst will
be discussed under therapy.

Resistance. When the analyst constructs a reaction from the

data and interprets it to the patient, the latter is usually reluctant
to accept it; he struggles against it and tries to prove the analyst

wrong. The patient continues to react in this way during subse-

quent interviews, although he has allegedly accepted the fact that
his old reaction had disadvantages. Resistance is also manifest
when a patient maintains a stubborn silence, when he is unable
to think of anything significant or when he talks but omits sig-
nificant facts and thoughts.
Psychoanalytic Therapy 579

"Resistance" is a collective term for some of the most impor-

tant reactions brought out by the analysis. It is prompted by the

patient's struggles and his refusal to give up a vital need. The

reactions which constitute resistance are just as significant as
the patient's final acceptance; in fact, the largest part of the anal-
ysis deals with resistance reactions. . . .

Recent Developments in Analysis

The following shifts of focus have taken place in psychoana-

lytictheory and observation:
1. Greater accent on anxiety, and, as a result, emphasis on the

methods by which the patient is trying to escape danger and

distress often referred to as "ego psychology,"
2. Greater emphasis on problems of self-esteem, self-assertion,
and the need for affection and love, these forces being viewed as
total personality reactions and not as derivatives of sexual striv-

ings.
3. Greater accent on the unconscious intricacies of current
reactions.
In the following an approach will be presented which inte-
grates, with some additions, the concepts that seem most signifi-
cant and effective in the treatment of a patient.

The nature of dominant psychological forces

The following psychological forces, all of them in part or en-

tirelyunconscious, have nearly equal significance in the pathologi-
cal dynamics of patients.

Self -Evaluation: Self -Esteem and Moral Worth. "Self-esteem"

refers mainly to a general feeling of ability to accomplish tasks
according to one's own standards and in comparison with other
individuals. The most obvious disturbances of this striving are
feelings of inadequacy or its opposite namely, feeling of excess
ability.
Disturbances of moral worth are manifested through self-con-
580 A. H. Maslow and Beta Mittelmann

demnation and guilt and the feeling of being condemned by

others. The opposite isthe feeling of excessive moral worth, al-
ways having to do the right thing, together with the feeling of
moral superiority. The two opposites of self-evaluation, as well
as opposites to be discussed later, often exist side by side.

Evaluation of the Environment. This has two aspects evalua-

:

tion of the strength and emotional attitude of the environment.

The healthy attitude of the individual is that his strength equals
that of the environment or that he can adjust, within reason, to a

stronger environment and is able to handle a weaker one without

exploitation. Disturbances of evaluation of the strength of the
environment are: considering the environment as all-powerful
and always ready to crush its victim (helplessness), or, on the
contrary, considering the environment at one's mercy. These atti-
tudes and many of those to be discussed overlap in part. The
threat of the environment may be considered in terms not only
of destruction but also of complete humiliation or condemnation.
As regards evaluation of the environment in terms of affection,
the healthy attitude is that there can be an adequate give and take
of love between the individual and most members of his sur-
roundings. The most obvious disturbances are: a feeling of being
rejected or,on the contrary, of being loved unqualifiedly, cor-
responding in part to the constant need to give unlimited affection
and love to the surroundings under all circumstances.

Interpersonal Orientation and Behavior. The healthy orienta-

and the ability to accept disap-
tion is the desire for self-assertion

pointment within reason. The most obvious disturbances are:

complete dependence on and complete submission to the environ-
ment or, on the contrary, the need to dominate it and overpower
it. As regards affection, there may be constant resentment, feel-

ing of rejection or detachment, and avoidance of situations of

affection or, on the contrary, excessive attachment. The attitudes
and orientations mentioned represent strivings in themselves or
lead to strivings in the form of goals and "policies" on the part
of the individual.
Psychoanalytic Therapy 581

Organ-Functional Strivings. These can be grouped into pleas-

ure strivings and strivings of utility and mastery (self-preservation).
The most important organ functions here referred to are the oral,
excretory, genital, and motor functions, as well as looking, hear-
ing,touching (with other functions of the skin), and smelling.
The pleasure aim predominates almost entirely in the genital
function, although the urinary function never gets entirely sep-
arated from it because of their close anatomical relationship. In
the oral, urinary, and anal functions, both are present with almost
equal accent. The self-preservative aspect of these functions is of
prime importance psychologically either because of the knowl-
edge of their survival value or because of the experience of dis-
comfort and threat to health in case of disturbance. In motility,
the utilitarian and the pleasure aspect are equally great in child-
hood, whereas later the utilitarian predominates by far. As re-
gards skin, both aspects are about equal, with perhaps pleasure
predominating. In connection with looking and hearing, as a rule
the utilitarian aspect predominates, but there can be heavy accent
on the pleasure aspect also. The disturbances in these functions
can be: (1) excessive intensification or excessive suppression of
the function; (2) disturbance of the relative balance in the organ-
ization of these various functions e.g., the oral function out-

stripping the genital function in the dominant pleasure aims of

the individual; (3) disturbance in the relative balance of the
pleasure function and the utilitarian function of mastery in these
functions; and (4) the distortion of the pleasure function by in-
dispensable accent on pain (masochism) or on cruelty (sadism).
These strivings and disturbances also overlap with the ones men*
tioned previously and to be mentioned later. The suppression of
function or excessive function is related to the anticipation of
injury, condemnation, humiliation, and frustration by other indi-
viduals.

Emotional Reactions. Emotional reactions here include not

only subjective experience but also the impulse to ask more of the
situation, in the case of positive ones, and avoidance or mastery,
in the case of negative ones. Under healthy circumstances the
individual reacts to a situation essentially with proportional
582 A. H. Maslow and Bela Mittelmann

emotions of a positive and negative kind commensurate to the

situation. The emotions here considered are anxiety, hostility,
depression with the feeling of loss, enjoyment, sympathy, pity,
friendship, etc, The obvious disturbances are: need for suppres-
sion of emotions, excessive emotions, and inappropriate reactions.
The last implies, for example, the occurrence of anxiety or hostil-
ity when enjoyment ought to appear. A
key position from the
point of view of pathology is occupied by anxiety and hostility.
Here again there is an overlap with the previous forces, as anxiety
may be the fear of crushed, frustrated, humiliated, and con-
being
demned. Aggression may have the same active implication of

humiliating, biting, etc.

Experiential Tendency (Erlebnistyp). This is the main quality

of the individual's sound strivings, developed in the course of his
life history: his special training, his intelligence, creativeness, his
or to-
tendency to utilize internal experience (introversiveness)
deal mainly with situations (extrotensiveness), his ability to ex-
ercise relatively extensive control over impulses, or, on the con-
need for considerable latitude to follow up impulses
trary, his
and have limited responsibilities. Some individuals are remark-

ably versatile, but the majority show clear-cut preferences.

Under
healthy circumstances the individual is in an occupation
and a
social and economic position which enable him to follow through
these interests close to his needs and abilities. Under pathological
circumstances energy may be largely spent on work incompatible
with his main strivings; e.g., an intellectual, introversive person is
in business, spending most of his time in buying and selling and

being in contact with individuals whose philosophies of life and

from his own. The consequences of this kind of
interests differ

difficulty may be varied. Apart from unhappiness, the individual

may try excessively to intensify the disliked activity, or he may be

inefficient, or, in the case of individuals who have difficulty in the
amount of control required over their impulses, there may be re-
current breaking loose of objectionable activity or, on the con-
with the
trary, excessive self-control. This problem, too, overlaps
previous points because the disturbance may manifest itself m
any of the previously discussed fields.
Psychoanalytic Therapy 583

The relationship between the various forces; conflict,

protective and coping measures
It has been mentioned repeatedly that there is an overlap be-

tween the major psychological fields and forces. There is still

another integral relationship among them. Conflicts may arise
within the forces listed under the same headings e.g., between
need for moral worth and need for self-esteem because of their
extremeness and the prerequisites needed to satisfy them. The
individual's self-esteem may demand that he be able to carry out
any kind of act, regardless of any objections by himself or by the
environment; the moral position may require that he must not
even assert himself, let alone injure anybody. Conflicts thus aris-
ing lead to a feeling of inner disorganization, of helplessness, and
of anxiety. Now, one of several things may happen. The individ-
ual may reinforce one of the strivings and solve the situation that
way e.g., carry out the act. However, after a period the guilt
resulting reestablishes the old conflict. Or the individual ma> try
to solve the conflict by a shift to activity in another field e.g.,
to obtain the unqualified love of another individual or to engage
in some pleasure-seeking activity, such as genital activity and
thus obviate both the need for self-assertion and the guilt over it.
These substitute activities may also solve the problem for the
time being, but the excessive, self-effacing love soon leads to a
lowering of self-esteem, and the sexual activity may lead to guilt.
The is that both the feeling of inadequacy and the
result then
and moral worthlessness are reinstituted.
feeling of guilt
This example has two implications for the forces under dis-
cussion: (1) the forces themselves (striving for self-evaluation,
organ strivings) are the result in part of conflict, anxiety, and
defensive and coping measures; (2) the pressure in any of the
fields mentioned may manifest itself in any of the other fields.

Thus the individual may have developed a masochistic orientation

in sexual activity. Then, on the occasion of sexual urge, he may
consider this activity too injurious or humiliating. The result may
then be that sexual activity gets suppressed and satisfaction is
sought in purely affectionate relationships. The guilt that may be
584 A. H. Maslow and Bela Mittelmann

present over the original striving may then add the coloring of
altruistic self-sacrifice to the relationship.

The relationship between current and genetic dynamics

Psychopathology, at any given age of the individual, is the sum

total of all currently related forces as theywere shaped during
his life history. The major link to be added now to these inter-
( 1 ) The individual reasons, in
is a double one
relationships : the
main unconsciously, "Such events have occurred in my past;
therefore my current orientation and striving are vitally neces-
sary." (2) Certain attitudes and orientations have been preserved
from the past, essentially unaltered,and form a part of the in-
dividual's current orientation. This double link again forms a
vicious circle with the current strivings. The individual's reason-
ing, "Past experiences justify current orientation," reinforces
either his feeling of helplessness or, let us say, his violent at-

tempt to dominate the world. This violent hostility then again leads
to fear of retribution. With the renewal of anxiety, he looks for
further past proofs and protective and coping measures. This
sequence of events then contributes to preserving the past orienta-
tion and striving intact.
The question of the relationship between current and past
dynamics may be rounded out further. Events in the past narrow
down and determine in part the individual's future development.
Further, the memory of past events constantly influences the
individual's reaction to new ones. There is, however, an equally
important process in the opposite direction. When the individual
meets with new reversals, the evaluation of past events also alters.
His current helplessness results in reinforcing his feeling of help-
lessness in the past. The evaluation of past events constantly alters
and gets more complex in connection with later experiences. In
fact, the same past event may be used for contradictory proof
under the pressure of contradictory strivings in current situations,
this being one of the reasons for the difficulties in reconstructing

past events. Thus, to prove the need for extreme caution, the pa-
tient may accent in a past conflict with his father his feeling of

helplessness. In order to reinforce his belief in the miraculous

Psychoanalytic Therapy 585

benevolence of the world at other times, or even simultaneously,

he may accent the fact that his relationship with his father was
a close one.
As regards themain traumatic situations, the most significant
nodal point maybe found at any period of the individual's life.
The individual is constantly confronted with new problems, which
he approaches with both old and new strivings and hopes, and the
resultant event may lead to a new pathological constellation of
forces. Thus the striving for achievement becomes considerably
intensified, beginning with school attendance; it is then used to
reestablish self-esteem and the affection of other individuals, as a
substitute for genital pride; in addition, it has the character of a
new force. Entering an occupation or a marriage again confronts
the individual with new problems and new hopes. Disappointment
may lead to the final crystallization of a feeling that the world is
a potentially frustrating place, that there is no way of establishing
self-esteem other than to be always right, that sexual gratification
is indispensably vital and at the same time leads to ultimate dan-

ger situations, that every new attempt toward satisfaction would

end in failure, that therefore all extreme strivings, conscious and
unconscious, are inescapable yet have to be held in check. In the
treatment of, let us say, a woman of thirty-five years who has
gone through this type of development, the period of failure after
the early months of marriage proves tc be the nodal historical
period where most of the genetic threats meet. It may then be as
much underplayed or forgotten by her in its various aspects and
may have to be gone back to throughout the analysis against
equally great resistance as any period of her childhood. , . .

Therapeutic Aims and Effects of Analysis

The general therapeutic aims of psychoanalysis are the disap-

pearance of symptoms, increased efficiency and ability to enjoy
life, increased ability to stand stress and to make the best of one's

opportunities, and the like. The special therapeutic aim is an ex-

tremely thoroughgoing recasting of those reaction patterns which
are responsible for the patient's difficulties. Not only are symp-
586 A. H. Maslow and Bela Mittelmann

relieved, but there are also changes in some aspects

toms of his

relationship with others, his evaluation of himself and of others,

his goalsand the way in which he seeks to attain them. No other
this to the
therapeutic method today seems able to accomplish
same extent as psychoanalysis.
The length of time that the treatment requires depends on the
a recasting is desired
patient's difficulties and on how thorough
an early
by himself and the analyst. Usually the patient shows
If a analysis is interrupted for any valid
improvement. satisfactory
reason, the patient may nevertheless derive benefit from it. The
lessening of symptoms is often rapid, particularly in patients whc
are suffering markedly when they start the analysis; but the symp-
toms return in varying when new life stresses arise and
intensity
when new disturbing topics are taken up in the analysis. Gradu-
ally the patient's behavior
in situations of stress improves; and

finally his behavior rises above its previous level even in situations
in which he excelled. Completely satisfactory analyses may vary
in length from about two to five years.
Not all patients are equally benefited by psychoanalytic treat-
ment. There are four prerequisites for a patient to be analyzable:
(1) He must desire to be treated. Often the explanatory
statement
that he needs treatment suffices to create a willingness to under-
take analysis. Some patients at first are averse to analysis either
because they are afraid of becoming completely dependent or
because their need for self-esteem is so intense that they want
to handle all their difficulties, no matter how great, themselves.
Such patients may eventually change their outlook, however; and
their treatment is often very successful. (2) The patient must
have enough intelligence to realize that his suffering may have
emotional causes, and to understand the analyst's explanations.
Feeble-minded people, for example, are not analyzable. (3) The
procedure should be adapted to the patient's illness and individu-
ality. Border-line psychotic patients may
come for treatment by
their own decision; frank psychotics do not, yet many of them
can be analyzed with a modified technique. One might say in gen-
eral that any technical modification or measure that takes care of
issues that are beyond the individual patient's coping capacity at
the time not only does not interfere with the analysis but helps
Psychoanalytic Therapy 587

It; and such measures are at times indispensable. Such auxiliary

measures are simultaneous analysis of husband and wife or of

parent and child by the same analyst (Mittelmann, Sperling);
direct contact at regular intervals with other members of the

family to get their cooperation and to handle their difficulties

(Mittelmann); the use of hypnotics or hypnosis in the therapeutic
session when the analysis "stalls" after satisfactory progress for
a long time; temporary hospitalization in severe cases, with pos-
sible auxiliary use of "shock" treatment in case of psychosis to
make the patient more accessible. Analysis in a private office not
only may be of no help, but may actually be dangerous because
during a reaction to stress situations the patient may commit sui-
cide or engage in some violent act. (4) The patient's life goals
must be essentially good; if they need to be changed, his situa-
tion must be such that he can do so. Furthermore, he must be able
to obtain from his surroundings an indispensable minimum of
emotional support. For example, a patient suffers from anxiety
attacks; he has spoiled his relationships with most people, and he
must therefore live alone. He may be very intelligent, but he may
have broken off his professional training. Because of his dissatis-
faction with his station in life and because of the unbearable strain
of living alone, analytic treatment may not be able to bring him
even to the point where he could alter his situation.
The question whether the patient's psychological disturbance is
amenable to psychoanalytic treatment, whether he can change his
life goal if necessary, and whether he can obtain the minimum

emotional support from his environment cannot always be easily

answered at the beginning of the analysis. The analyst may begin
the treatment even though he has serious doubts, and the analysis
may be successful.
It must not be assumed that a patient who has been successfully
analyzed is free from shortcomings. He is making the best of his
opportunities and will continue to do so increasingly after the
analysis is completed. Furthermore, he is able to handle his minor
shortcomings successfully. Under new and very adverse life situ-
ations, he may need help again.
If an individual undergoes analysis as part of his professional

training, the analysis proceeds essentially as has been described.

588 A. H. Maslow and Bela Mittelmann

The reason for this is that no one is free from fears and difficul-

ties,although he may cope with them more successfully by means

of various psychological devices. His manner of functioning in
life,however, can always be improved. A
successful analysis will
enable such a person to live his life more fully. While his psy-
chological devices are being broken through in the analysis, he
may go through considerable emotional stress, for analysis can
never be a purely intellectual experience. , . .

Curative factors in analytic treatment

Now that we have presented an account of the psychoanalytic

procedure and of its therapeutic effects, we shall discuss what
psychological factors are operative in achieving these results.
Many of the factors are the same as those discussed in connec-
tion with psychotherapy in general. These will be referred to
briefly,the emphasis being placed on the features characteristic
of the analytic procedure.

Support and Reassurance by the Analyst; Permissive Attitudes.

Although these topics have been discussed previously, it should
be mentioned here that the patient desires the analyst's unquali-
fied and unlimited support, reassurance, and approval. He is not
permitted the illusion that he is receiving this; if he is, any topic
he or the analyst discusses will only serve to maintain this illu-

sion. How much comments on this attitude depends

the analyst
on the immediate analytic situation and on how much depriva-
tion the patient can stand at the moment.

Effects of Investigation of Attitudes Toward the Analyst. The

fact that the patient manifests all the significant psychological atti-
tudes in relationship to the analyst turns the analysis into a living
experience for him. He must face and work out his emotional
problems in this new interhuman
relationship; thus he experiences
his impulses under a unique set of circumstances. Comments on
his reactions are made at the time they occur; he must face them.

Furthermore, the impulse is not met by the analyst with moral

approval or disapproval, or with counterattack or submission; nor
Psychoanalytic Therapy 589

can the problem be settled by action as in the patient's daily life.

It is met with understanding and explanation, and with the impli-

cation that the patient should change his method of dealing with
problems. Therefore the "fate" of the impulse and its effect on the
patient's whole personality are different from what they would
be under other circumstances.
The most important irrational attitudes that the patient has
toward the analyst are: the expectation that the analyst will cure
him by a sort of magic act, and that the analyst is all-powerful,,
omniscient, and perfect; an attitude of and a desire for complete
submission in order to obtain the needed help; the assumption
that the analyst looks down on him, especially because of the above

attitudes,and that the analyst wants to dominate or overpower

him and keep him in subjection (counterpart of complete submis-
sion) anger
; toward the analyst for this reason and for his refusal
to give the desired help; a desire to rule the analyst and to do to
him everything that he thinks the analyst will do to him; fear of
the analyst because of the anger toward him, chiefly fear of loss
of his love and approval, and fear of injury; desire for gratifica-
tions; impulse to attack the analyst at certain parts of the body,
and fear that the analyst will attack him at the same places.
The toward the analyst arise and are
patient's various attitudes
recognized partly spontaneously, but they are brought out particu-
larly in response to the analyst's interpretations.

Unconscious Attitudes Becoming Conscious* The exact ther-

apeutic effect of the becoming conscious of an unconscious
impulse is a complicated question. Permissive and supportive atti-
tudes on the part of the analyst often play an important part in
the resulting relief. Another significant aspect is the following:
The patient, because of his fear, shuts a distressing problem out
of awareness and in that way renounces control over it; he be-
comes helpless to handle it. As a result of analytic work, his fear
of the problem lessens, and it becomes acceptable to him for con-
sideration. This has a further effect; He now receives a key to a

problem which has distressed and perplexed him, and he acquires

mastery over it. In some cases this effect of analytic work is very
striking*
590 A. H. Maslow and Beta Mittelmann

A interview in a disturbed emotional

patient arrived for the analytic
state and complaining that her feet felt numb. The complaints per-
sisted throughout the entire interview, in spite of repeated attempts
at interpretation,She finally related an incident which had occurred
not long before this interview and which up to this point she had
not mentioned or thought of. She had expected a telephone call from
her husband at noon, which had not come. She had felt that this
was
inconsiderate of him, and was angry and hurt, but then she had
become worried lest he might be leaving her. Soon afterward her
with the analyst,
complaint had started. As she discussed this incident
her complaint disappeared. In this instance the patient had been afraid
of the consequences of her anger toward her husband and had there-
fore repressed her impulse and the memory of the incident. With the
aid of the analyst, she acquired enough self-confidence to see the
immediate problem and acquire mastery over it.

This patient was well along in her understanding of the type of

problem that this incident presented, and it was for this reason
that the effect was so immediate and clear. Usually a patient is at

first afraid to become conscious of attitudes which have been

repressed, and he struggles against
the analyst's efforts to enable
him to see them. The lessening of the fear and the acquisition of
in such instances are achieved after some period of time.
mastery

Forcing the Patient to Change His Attitudes. As has been said,

all interpretations have the unvoiced implication that, although
they arise from helplessness, the patient's goals e.g., complete
be
dependence have pernicious consequences and should
him. The however, reacts to this as if it were
changed by patient,
a threat to a vital need, and he pursues the same goal in a different
form. Again this is interpreted to him, and thus the struggle goes
on until he feels himself forced out of the attitude; he then, al-
most in desperation at first, begins to make a new effort. Thus
every important change in the patient's reaction patterns is a
result not only of lessening anxiety, increased self-confidence,
increased feelings of mastery and approval, but also of being
forced to abandon goals whose realization is refused. In this
process the patient's desire to proceed further with his problems
and to acquire increased self-esteem also plays a role. From this
and what has been said under the two previous heads, interpreta-
Psychoanalytic Therapy 591

tion is seen to be one of the most powerful therapeutic weapons

of psychoanalysis.

Resolution of Conflicts and of Vicious Circles; Relief of Bodily

Distress. As a result of the analytic work, the feeling of helpless-
ness and worthlessness and the catastrophic expectations are grad-
ually relieved. With this, both the intense need for dependence
and the hostile reactions subside, as well as the self-condemna-
tion, the feelings of guilt, the self-aggrandizement, and the frantic
struggle to reach implacable ideals. Thus the conflicts grow less
intense and are finally resolved, and compromise formations and
substitute bodily gratifications are abandoned. The tense struggle
to reach normal functioning abates, as does the continuous ten-
sion resulting from unsatisfiable psychological and physiologi-
cal needs. Consequently the whole vicious circle of reactions is
halted,

Increase in Self -Confidence and Well-Being. Almost from the

beginning of the analysis there is an increase in the patient's self-
confidence and in his psychological strength. This is true in spite
of the fact that the patient's fears become recurrently intense.
The self-confidence and strength are not to be taken here as
always meaning subjective comfort. They imply that the patient
takes up problems which previously he could not face at all,
regardless of the fact that they frighten him. These terms further
imply that many of his functions improve when he is free from
intense stress. Direct encouragement and reassurance are rarely
given in the analytic interview. The patient often asks: "What
can I do to have more self-confidence? How
can I overcome my
fears? In what ways is analysis going to help me?" The analyst
may answer such questions once, but his answers are invariably
interpreted by the patient either as containing magic help in them-
selves or as falling far short of the kind of help he needs. Usually
the patient repeats such questions later as if he had not asked
them before and as if he had not had an answer. The reason for
that is that these questions are really disguised statements and

requests on the part of the patient; therefore they have to

be analyzed, not answered. The remarkable fact is that the pa-
592 A. H. Maslow and Bela Mittelmann

tient's self-confidence increases as a result both of the implied

supportive and permissive aspects of analysis and of the resolution
of conflicts and dangerous attitudes, and also because of increas-
ing mastery. As the analysis progresses, successfully completed
tasks and new gratifications increase the patient's desire for new
efforts and in turn increase his self-confidence and strength, thus

establishing a healthy circle of psychological and physiological

reactions.
 34

SANDOR RADO

Recent Advances
31

in Psychoanalytic
Therapy

Freud's motivational theory of behavior, known as classical psy*

is the basis of the classical
chodynamics, technique of psycho-
analytic therapy. Adaptational psychodynamics, a consistent de-
velopment of the classical theory, seeks to place the analysis of
behavior on a sound biological foundation, and to depict motiva-
tion in a close-to-the-fact language that facilitates its clinical
verification. This revised theory sheds new light on the therapeu-
tic mechanisms by which the various treatment procedures oper-
ate, disclosesthe imperfections of the classical technique as well
as its
lasting achievements, and leads to the development of a new
technique of psychoanalytic therapy which I call the adaptationaj
technique.
Limiting the scope of my assignment to this line of recent de-
velopment, in the present paper I shall introduce a conceptual
scheme for the comparative study of diverse psychotherapeutic
methods, take a fresh view of the chief therapeutic ideas evolved
in the past, outline the new adaptational technique and finally
glance at the problems that lieahead.

*
Reprinted by permission from Psychiatric Treatment Proceedings of the
Association for Research in Nervous and Mental Disease, Dec. 14 and 15,
1951, New York, N. Y. Published by The Williams & Wilkins Company,
Baltimore, 1953. Copyright, 1953, Association for Research in Nervous and
Mental Disease,
593
594 Sandor Rado

The CoEceptiial Scheme

Psychotherapy is a medical procedure; it may be defined as

the use of human influence for the treatment of behavior dis-
orders. We distinguish between the patient's
treatment behavior
and his life performance. The term treatment behavior refers to
his co-operation with the physician; the term life performance,
to the rest of his activities in daily life.
The patient's treatment behavior
can be understood only in
terms of his own shifting designs for co-operation
whether he is
en-
aware of them or not. The various designs for co-operation
countered in our patients fall into a hierarchically ordered scheme
of levels; this order is shown in table 1.
These designs for co-operation are subject to complications.
For example, instead of co-operating the patient may wish to take
the place of the physician; or he may be divided against himself
and secretly prefer to stay ill. However, such complications do
not affect the validity of our hierarchical scheme.
At the self-reliant and aspiring levels the patient's treatment

behavior is based on common sense. In contrast, at the parentify-

levels his treatment behavior reveals ex-
ing and magic-craving
cessive emotional dependence on the physician, befitting a child
more than an Often unknown to himself he sees in the
adult.
his own parent, brought
physician an idealized re-incarnation of
back to the scene by the power of his desire. Accordingly, his

co-operation aims at obtaining the privileges of a favorite child,

not at learning and maturation. Thus in our hierarchical scheme
the sharp dividing line runs between the self-reliant and parentify-
is adult, be-
ing levels: above this line the patient's co-operation
low it, child-like.
While the aspiring and self-reliant levels are not available in
to parenti-
every patient, proneness of the helpless adult to regress
or magic-craving behavior is ineradicable and universal.
fying
The fundamental clinical fact is that patients can be success-
fully treated at every level of treatment behavior. However, the
goals and techniques of treatment are so different from level to
level that it becomes an important technical task to counteract
Recent Advances in Psychoanalytic Therapy 595

TABLE 1 Hierarchic order of the patient's designs for

co-operation

Aspiring Level:
Available only in the adult who "I am delighted to co-operate with the
is capable and desirous of self- doctor. This is my opportunity to learn

advancement by extensive learn- how to make full use of all my potential

ing and maturation. resources for adaptive growth."

Self-Reliant Level:
Available in the average adult "I am ready to co-operate with the doc-
who is capable of learning the tor. I must leam how to help myself and

simple know-how of daily life. do things for myself."

CHILD-LIKE

Parentifying Level:
When the adult feels like a help- "I don't know what the doctor expects of
less child,he seeks parental help me. I couldn't do it anyway, He should
and therefore parentifies the ther- cure me by his exfoit,"

apist.

Magic-Craving Level:
The completely discouraged adult "The doctor must not only cure me, he
retreats to the hope that the must do everything for me by magic."
parentified therapist will do mir-
acles for him. ^ = ADVANCE. |,
= REGRESSION.
596 Sandor Rado

the patient's inclination to shift from one level to another, in par-

ticular, to cross the line that divides the levels of adult co-opera-
tion from the levels of child-like co-operation.
The physician must seek to stabilize the patient's co-operation
at the level selected for his treatment.For this purpose he uses
measures devised to regulate the patient's treatment behavior; we
call these priming measures. In contradistinction, we call the

measures devised to modify the patient's life performance modify-

ing measures. Measures intended to prime and modify at the same
time are called double duty measures.
Each particular method of psychotherapy has its own plan for
priming and its own plan for modifying. Of course, its plan for
modifying depends upon its plan for priming. These two plans
may be conveniently used as a basis for classification of all
methods of psychotherapy.

Lineage of Psychoiherapeutic Methods

Comparative analysis shows that the historical development of

the major psychotherapeutic methods has an inherent logical con-
sistency. To demonstrate this instructive fact, in our re-examina-
tion of these methods we shall follow the order of their historical

appearance. The lineage of psychotherapeutic methods is shown

in table 2.

Hypnotherapy

Priming

Hypnotherapy's plan for priming is to put the patient into a

hypnotic state by taking full advantage of his craving for magical
help [7, 11, 12]. As a child the patient knew the ironclad rule that
he must purchase the "magical" ministrations of his parents with
his own obedience. When told by the physician that he should
go to sleep though he is not sleepy at all, the patient senses that
Recent Advances in Psychoanalytic Therapy 597

the ironclad rule is still in force. Hence, by the action of his own
desire the patient lapses into a hypnotic state, a state of almost
automatic obedience to the parentified physician. Far from resent-
ing this necessity, the patient feels hopeful, even triumphant: his
dream of magical help is coming true. Therefore he will act upon
the physician's orders as if acting upon his own intentions.
Magic-craving of the distressed is craving for security through
obedience. Hypnotherapy works at the magic-craving level of
treatment behavior.

1. The prohibitive technique: modifying

Having thus primed the patient for automatic obedience, the

physician must decide what modifying measure to employ. He
may choose the most primitive modifying measure known, the
exercise of disciplinary authority. In effect, the physician tells

the hypnotized patient: "Stop this nonsense!

TABLE 2 Lineage of psychotherapeutic methods

Pre-scientific Psychotherapy

Hypnotherapy: 1. The Prohibitive Technique

Hypnotherapy: 2. The Cathartic Technique Hypnoid Therapy

T
Psychoanalytic Therapy: 1. The Classical Technique

Psychoanalytic Therapy: 2. The Adaptational Technique

5?*> Sandor Rado

You are not ill! You feel fine!" The proper designation of this
procedure is the prohibitive technique of hypnotherapy.
This technique tries to cure the patient with parental discipline.
Therapeutic results are obtained at the cost of increased inner ten-
sion; their collapse is only a question of time. Nonetheless, this
technique may still be used to tide the patient over an emergency.

2. The cathartic technique: modify ing

In 1880-82 a patient of Dr. Joseph Breuer of Vienna taught the

medical profession how to make better therapeutic use of the
hypnotic state. This young lady knew that hypnosis is but a means
to an end: what she sought to obtain by her almost automatic
obedience was permission to disobey. She wished to have her say
while under hypnosis. With Breuer's consent she revived for-
gotten emotional experiences, and the emotional relief freed her
from her symptoms. She called this procedure "chimney sweep-
ing." In 1893, Breuer,by then in collaboration with Freud, called
it the cathartic method of hypnotherapy, or hypnocatharsis [1].

In contradistinction to the prohibitive technique, it is a permissive

technique, the first one to appear in scientific psychotherapy.
That the wholesale discharge of pent-up emotions has an
unburdening effect has been appreciated since Aristotle. What
Breuer discovered was a new and more specific therapeutic prin-
ciple,but his true discovery was lost in a shuffle of unwarranted
generalizations.
In a hot summer, Breuer's patient was unable to drink a drop
of water because she could not touch the tumbler with her lips.
Under hypnosis she related that once when she entered the room
of her hated English governess, she saw the latter's "disgusting"
dog drinking out of a tumbler. She said nothing because she
little

"wanted to be polite." Breuer describes the rest of this hypnotic

session as follows:

After she gave energetic expression to her anger, she asked for a
drink,and without any inhibition drank a great deal of water, awaken-
ing from the hypnosis with the glass at her lips [1, p. 23].

This therapeutic mechanism is not an emotional purge in gen-

eral, but the release of repressed rage in particular. This mecha-
Recent Advances in Psychoanalytic Therapy 599

nism can remove only symptoms that serve as a vicarious outlet

for rage recently repressed. The inability of Breuer's patient to
touch the tumbler with her lips gave pantomimic expression to
her bitter resentment of the governess: "You see what your in-
considerate action did to me! For all I know this may be the
same tumbler you allowed your disgusting pet to use. How can
you expect me to touch it with my lips? If I die of thirst it will be
your fault."
We also learn from this case that release of rage is therapeutic

only if was with Breuer's

certain additional criteria are satisfied. It
approval that the patient released her anger at the governess.
This put an end to her humiliation, restored her pride, and as-
suaged her guilty fear of the governess. Had Breuer reprimanded
her for her disrespect of the governess, he would have destroyed
the therapeutic success. Another crucial point is that the patient
felt free to recall the incident responsible for her rage. Had she

feared that Breuer might criticize her, she would have remained
silentor vented her anger on Breuer; in either case she would
have retained her symptom.
Today we may formulate the modifying measure discovered by
Breuer as follows:
The release of repressed rage is a decompressive procedure
comparable to the opening of a blind abscess. To release the

repressed rage, one must first locate and revive it in the memory
context of the life experience that provoked it. Furthermore, to
De successful, the release must retrieve the patient's lost pride;
this effectcan be obtained only if the patient feels that the phy-
sician approves of his released rage.

Hypnoid Therapy

The hypnoid state is a wakeful counterpart of the hypnotic

state.In the hypnoid state the patient displays a degree of uncriti-
cal obedience to the parentified physician, that makes him act

upon the latter's propositions as if acting on his own intentions.

The degree of uncritical obedience varies in a wide range. Uncriti-
cal obedience may result 1) from the patient's craving for magic,
600 Sander Rado
or 2) from his craving for a helpful ersatzparent,
helpful in a
more or less realistic sense. Thus hypnoid therapy may work 1 ) at
the magic-craving level, or 2) at the parentifying level.

L Priming and modifying at the magic-craving level

Magic-craving may be a fleeting episode evoked by distress in

the healthy or the sick. Priming must sustain the patient's craving
and belief that the physician is the person he needs. The means
used may be crude or subtle; they amount to a reassuring display
of what the patient believes to be the superior powers of the
physician.
Modifying is done by disguised hypnoid orders; the vehicle
used may be a placebo or a measure of true medical value. The
magic-craving patient may supply himself with the desired hyp-
noid orders regardless of the physician's own intentions. This ap-
plies to all physicians andmedical procedures.
all

Hypnoid therapy magic-craving level is known as sug-

at the

gestive therapy or as the suggestive component of all medical

procedures.
What enables the magic-craving patient to act upon the physi-
cian's hypnoid orders, whether these are explicit, implied or

simply presumed by the patient? By parentifying the physician at

the cost of uncritical obedience, the patient experiences an up-
lift, increased self-confidence and sense of emotional security;

these changes relax his inhibitions, allay his fears and facilitate
his life performance. Owing to the patient's own desire, the

parentified physician may thus be able to induce him to do things

he was unable to do by himself. However, the physician must first
comfort the patient and help him to unburden himself by dis-
charging his pent-up emotions. He may help the patient over the
hump by sound advice and other supportive measures.

2. Priming and modifying at the parentifying level

Priming follows the same principles as above; but here the

physician must bemore subtle because the patient is more critical.
As compared with the magic-craving level, here the physician's
opportunity for modifying is greatly increased. By utilizing the
Recent Advances in Psychoanalytic Therapy 601

patient's desire for security through obedience he may employ

modifying measures that will induce in the patient true processes,
of emotional learning. Many of the therapeutic results thus,
achieved may survive even if later the patient loses his hypnoidi
faith in the physician. However, the patient will then have to
find another ersatzparent
We have no descriptive name for this type of treatment; the-
term "brief psychotherapy" has some currency.

Psychoanalytic Therapy: 1. The Classical Technique

Freud's conception of psychoanalytic treatment

Freud's discovery of free association thinking out loud

was a fruit of the bold initiative of Breuer's patient. With the
introduction of this new
investigative method it has become a
psychodynamic principle that the patient shall have his say in
his treatment. Safeguarded by the Hippocratic oath of the physi-
cian and prompted by his own need for help, he may be more
candid with the physician than he ever dared to be with himself.
The new investigative method disclosed the patient's life history
in intimate detail and enabled Freud to organize this hitherto
inaccessible material in terms of motivation and development.
This type of work, he said, may relieve the patient from the.
necessity of sustaining inner resistances; he may recall his forgot-
ten past, his repressed desires, and handle them in the superior-
manner of conscious control. Since conscious desires can produce
no vicarious activity (viewed at the time as the general mecha-
nism of symptom formation) "the continuance and even the-
renewal of the morbid condition is impossible" [3]. As this state-
ment shows, Freud attributed almost unlimited therapeutic power
to the undoing of the patient's repressions, hence his vision of

psychoanalysis as a therapy of total reconstruction that would lift

the patient to a higher level of psychodynamic organization.
Freud's threefold formulation of the mode of action of psycho-
analytic therapy is basic to the classical technique. He advanced it

in 1904, repeating it unchanged throughout his life [3-6]:

602 Sandor Rado
The aim of our efforts may
be expressed in various formulas
making conscious the unconscious, removing the repressions, filling in
the gaps in
memory; they all amount to the same thing.
We do nothing for our patients but enable this one mental change
to take place in them; the extent to which it is achieved is the ex-
tent of the benefit we do them (5, p. 377).

Freud's discovery and interpretation of parentifying

treatment behavior

To explain the unexpected fact that the patient turns child-like

io his treatment behavior, Freud introduced a hypothesis of far-
reaching consequences. The patient, he said, is subject to an inner
force that compels him to transfer his infantile responses from
his past relationship to his parents to his present relationship to
the physician. He thus viewed parentifying treatment behavior as
a forced repetition of the patient's past, and called it transference.
made parentifying treatment behavior a phe-
This hypothesis
nomenon independent from and unmotivated by the patient's
present situation in treatment, and life.

This hypothesis enabled Freud to consider parentifying treat-

ment behavior as but another form in which the patient repro-
duces his past. Recollections and repetitions complement one
another, each revealing the patient's past in its own way. Freud's
classification of transference and the meaning of his terms are
shown in table 3.

TABLE 3 "Transference": terms and meaning

MEANING
TERMS Patient behaves the wa
Forms of transference: he did when he was:

Positive transference An obedient child

Resistant transference A disobedient child
1) Negative transference 1 ) A defiant child
2) Sensual transference 2) A child bent on sexual gratifica-
tion
Recent Advances in Psychoanalytic Therapy 603

Priming
In Freud's view, positive transference is the force the only
force that enables the patient to absorb and act upon the inter-
pretations proposed to him by the physician:

The outcome in this struggle [between repression and therapeutic

undoing of repression] is not decided by his [the patient* s] intellectual
insight itneither strong enough nor free enough to accomplish
is

such a thing but solely by his relationship to the physician. In so far

as his transference bears the positive sign, it clothes the physician
with authority, transforms itself into faith in his findings and in his
views. Without this kind of transference or with a negative one, the
physician and his arguments would never even be listened to. Faith
repeats the history of its own origin; it is a derivative of love and at
first it needed no arguments. Notuntil later does it admit them so
far as to them into critical consideration if they have been
take
offered by someone who is loved. Without this support arguments
have no weight with the patient, never do have any with most people
in life [5, p. 387].

This passage is the basis of Freud's three rules for the handling
of transference: 1) Positive transference must be preserved in-
tact throughout the treatment. 2) Resistant transference must be
dissolved and the patient restored to positive transference. This
can be done, he said, by showing the patient that it is a now
senseless repetition of his infantile behavior towards his parents.
3) At the conclusion of the tieatment positive transference "must
be dissolved"; Freud did not say how this could be done.
Freud's rules, translated into the language of our conceptual
scheme, might read as follows: Only in a state of child-like de-
pendence upon the physician, a state of uncritical obedience, can
the patient absorb and act upon the interpretations proposed to
him by the physician. Therefore his child-like dependence, his
uncritical obedience, must be preserved intact throughout the
treatment. His disobedience defiance must be broken: he must
be shown that it is a repetition of his infantile behavior, now
disturbingly injected into his relationship to the physician. At the
conclusion of the treatment he must be induced to terminate his
uncritical obedience.
 604 Sandor Rado
To sum up: the classical technique primes the patient for un-
co-operation with the physician. The classical technique is
critical
a technique of child-like emotional dependence; it works at the
parentifying level of treatment behavior.

Modifying
An adequate plan for modifying the patient's life performance
must first consider the relation of available means to desired ends.
T

It must include an itemized list of the problems; an itemized list

of the tools; a set of instructions as to how to put the latter to
work.
The plan for modifying includes no itemized list of
classical
the problems; merely implies that the problem is to cure the
it

patient of his psychoneurosis. This limits the plan to an outline

of the relationship of the tools to one another.
The modifying measures used by the classical technique fall
into three groups:
1. Interpretation of the patient's recollections for the purpose
of undoing his repressions; reinforcement of the emerging insights
by repeated "working-through" of the material.
2. Interpretation, for the same purpose, of the patient's resist-

ant transference, particularly his negative transference. Trans-

lated into the language of our conceptual scheme: the physician
must trace selected phases of the patient's parentifying treatment
behavior to comparable phases of his childhood behavior; in par-
ticular, he must trace the patient's present defiance to his defiance
-of his parents in early life. The ob/ective is to familiarize the

patient with his repertoire of defiance and incestuous desires;

awareness will enable him to control these infantile impulses in
Ms life performance.
Since interpretation of the patient's resistant transference is
also used to regulate his treatment behavior, it is a double duty
measure in the sense of our conceptual scheme.
3. Measures of so-called "activity" on the part of the physi-

cian, such as pledging the patient to abstain from making crucial

decisions while under treatment, persuading Mm
to make an
Recent Advances in Psychoanalytic Therapy 605

effort to fight his phobic avoidances, setting a deadline for the

treatment.
In the classical technique, interpretation is based on classical

psychodynamics. The emphasis is on making the patient under-

stand his development, that is his libidinal development, his temp-
and mechanisms of defense. In classical psycho-
tations, fears
dynamics, neurotic and psychotic behavior are described and
explained in terms of libidinal development; so is, for that matter,
allbehavior. In the classical technique excessive preoccupation
with questions of libidinal meaning and development has com-
pletely dwarfed the basic question of all psychotherapy: the ascer-
taining of the adaptive value (positive or negative) of the patient's
life performance. The disclosure of motivation and development

is notoriously mistaken for an evaluation of performance. Let me

make this clear with an example. A
piece of writing may be a
work of deranged mind; which
art or the senseless effusion of a
it iscan be ascertained only by critical evaluation in the cultural
context, not by disclosure of its author's motivation and develop-
ment.

Critical evaluation of the classical technique

The aim of psychoanalytic therapy is to increase the patient's

capacity for enjoyment and active achievement in life by lifting

him to a higher level of psychodynamic organization. The pre-
analytic methods of psychotherapy could not even conceive the
possibility of such total reconstruction. To have evolved this
objective is a lasting achievement of the classical technique. How
far has it advanced towards the attainment of its goal? Measuring
it by its own yardstick, this is what we find:

1. The classical technique works at the parentifying level of

treatment behavior. To the extent of his uncritical obedience to

the physician the patient continues practicing child-like emotional
dependence throughout his treatment. Therefore, this technique
cannot lift him to a higher level of psychodynamic organization.

By offering the patient a singular opportunity for emotional learn-

ing over a lengthy period of time, it may achieve unmatched ther-
606 Sandor Rado

apeutic results; but it cannot significantly reduce his proneness

to inappropriate emotional
dependence. If the burden of his adap-
tive task increases he will seek shelter with an
ersatzparent.
2.
Parentifying treatment behavior is a product of the patient's
therapeutic situation. The transference theory views it as a prod-
uct of repetition-compulsion [4], a hypothetical force exempt
from the hedonic self-regulation of the organism, operating "be-
yond the pleasure principle." Thus parentifying treatment be-
havior appears on the scene like a deus ex machina. Attributing
parentifying treatment behavior to the intervention of an almost
supernatural force has rendered its true understanding impossible.
Ultimately, it threatens to strip psychoanalytic therapy of its
unique scientific and practical value, and to turn it into a ritual.
3. Analysis of the patient's parentifying treatment behavior in

terms of negative transference, variously featured in psychoana-

lytic literature as erlebnistherapie, neocatharsis [2], corrective ex-
perience, and the like,is an inadequate procedure for the all-

important therapeutic release of the patient's resentments. In

Breuer's catharsis the released rage retains its true object; therein
liesthe therapeutic efficacy of Breuer's procedure. In the transfer-
ence procedure whenever the patient vents his rage on the phy-
sician, there follows a penetrating search for the infantile origins
of his rage resulting as a rule in the finding that he has again
repeated his rage against his father. This procedure relieves
neither the patient's true resentment of the physician nor his true
resentment of his father; still less does it relieve the resentments of
his current life-situation which are in no small measure responsi-
ble for his present suffering. In therapeutic efficacy the scapegoat
principle of negative transference lags far behind the true-release
principle embodied in Breuer's procedure.
4. A one-sided developmental frame of reference of whatever
kind is inadequate for the purposes of psychodynamic under-
standing and therapeutic interpretation. It tends to concentrate
all interest and effort on the patient's past, to the neglect of his

present. This fact is reflected in psychoanalytic literature, which

refers neatly to the entirety of the patient's present life as his
"current conflict."
5. The modifying power of the undoing of repressions is over-
Recent Advances in Psychoanalytic Therapy 607

rated. To overcome repressions and thus be able to recall the past

is one thing; to learn from it and be able to act on the new knowl-
edge, another. It is the patient's undue inhibitions that make him
unable to act and learn by acting. These undue inhibitions de-
velop in childhood and are carried over into adult life as automa-
tizations. Undoing the repression of
thought and desire does not
by itself remove the automatized inhibition of executive action.

However, such shortcomings of the classical technique are not

final. Psychoanalytic therapy
surges with values and therapeutic
resources; in its development, the classical technique is not the
end but the beginning.

Psychoanalytic Therapy: 2. The Adapfatioiial Technique

Patients lastingly incapable of adult co-operation are not eli-

gible for a therapy of total reconstruction. They require other
treatment methods. The adaptational technique is designed to
work at the self-reliant or preferably the aspiring level of treat-
ment behavior.
In the adaptational psychodynamics of behavior disorders we
encounter organized sequences of events which we have come
to recognize as processes of miscarried prevention and miscarried

repair [8, 13-16]. They are brought into play in early life by the
child's faulty emergency responses, his over-reaction to danger,
The early phase
particularly to the parental threat of punishment.
of behavior disorder, emergency dyscontrol, appears in the child's
dependency relationship to his parents; its products are carried

over into adult life. The ensemble of the patient's faulty emer-
gency responses includes excessive or inappropriate fears, rages,
guilty fears and guilty rages; most damaging are the undue in-
hibitions which have arrested function, growth and development
in the affected areas, pre-eminently in group membership and
sexual behavior. In the treatment of behavior disorders, the criti-
cal task is to bring the patient's emergency emotions under
control; to remove his damaging inhibitions; to generate in him
an emotional matrix dominated by welfare emotions (pleasurable
desire, joy, love and pride) and controlled by adaptive insight,
608 Sandor Rado
a matrix conducive to a healthy life performance. In the adapta-
tional technique the plans for priming and modifying seek to
fulfill this task.

Priming
The adaptation al plan for priming is to hold the patient as
much as possible at the adult levels of co-operation with the
physician. When his treatment behavior turns or threatens to
turn child-like, we seek to bring him back to the adult level
without delay.
Child-like co-operation, that is, parentifying treatment be-
havior, must be understood in the context of the here and now.

Adaptational psychodynamics views the patient's search for an

ersatzparent as a process of miscarried repair, a cardinal feature
of behavior disorders. Before he entered treatment, he moved in
from one ersatzparent to the next. During treatment,
disillusion
as soon as he loses his self-confidence, he parentifies the phy-
sician. Resorting to the adaptive pattern, the goals and tactics, of
a child, he then plies the parentified physician with smiles, tears
and lashings, as shown schematically in table 6.
We know the patient's personal program for parentifying be-
havior from his he performed this program time and
life history;

again in his relationship to his parents and ersatzparents. The

adaptational technique seeks to forestall the unnecessary repeti-
tion of this program in the patient's treatment behavior by the

priming measure of interceptive interpretation. This is an intricate

procedure; to succeed, the physician must first bolster up the
patient's self-confidence on realistic grounds. Interpretation is
a double duty measure: it is used for modifying the patient's life
performance as well as regulating his treatment behavior. We
shall deal with it under the next heading.

Modifying
The adaptational technique's plan for modifying is too elabo-
rate to be presented here in detail. I shall touch only upon a few
major points.
Recent Advances in Psychoanalytic Therapy 609

We interpret to the patient Ms treatment behavior and life

performance in an adaptational framework of meaning. By
adaptations we mean improvements in the organism's pattern of
interaction with its environment; these are composed of changes
undergone by the organism itself ("autoplastic" adaptations) and
changes brought about by the organism in the environment ("al-
loplastic" adaptations).

TABLE 4 Plying the parentified physician with smiles,

tears, and lashings

Ingratiating: "I am courting your favor, doing everything you wish,

be nice to me."
Impatient: "It's time for you to cure me (by magic)."
Seductive: "Meanwhile, make love to me (the magic of your love
will cure me).'*

Upon feeling rejected by the physician:

Expiatory: "Your aloofness fills me with guilty fear. I should like

to expiate for my disobedience and promise to be
obedient please forgive me."
Resentful: "When I was a child my parents never let me have my
way. You said yourself that's how they started my
intimidation and illness. It's your job to undo the
wrong they did me. True, you urge me 'to get it off

my chest,' but you hold me in your clutches just the

same. You can't fool me."
Coercive: "Now I am really furious. Stop this double talk and
cure me."
Vindictive: "I shall get even with you ... I never wish to see you
again."

The patient must learn to view life, himself, and others in

terms of opportunities and responsibilities, successes and failures
He must learn to understand his doings in terms of motivation
and control, to evaluate his doings in terms of the cultural con-
text, and to understand his development in terms of his back-
ground and life history*
610 Sandor Rado

The meaning of non-reporting (unconscious) motivation can

be stated only in extrapolated terms of conscious motivation
[11, 15]; the strength of non-reporting motivation can be de-
termined only in relation to the strength of conscious motivation.
Therefore interpretation must always embrace the conscious as
well as the non-reporting phases of motivation. Even when the
biographical material on hand reaches far into the past, interpre-
tation must always begin and end with the patient's present life
performance, his present adaptive task. The significance of this
rule cannot be overstated.
A mathematical interpretation may be a purely intellectual
process. A
therapeutic interpretation must engender in the pa-
tient an emotional process or else miss its purpose. Freud de-
scribed psychoanalytic therapy as a process of re-education; I
should like tostress that it is pre-eminently a process of emotional
re-education. In behavior disorders emotions control reason; a
crucial goal of treatment is to adjust emotion to reason. Insight
alone has little if any therapeutic effect. This is pre-eminently
true of painful insight which is at the mercy of the patient's
next emotional upheaval. Using the material of his own life ex-
perience, we show the patient how brute emotions, emotional
thought, and unemotional thought differ from one another in
integrative action [13, 14]. He can learn to change his faulty
pattern of emotional responses in one way only: by practice;
he must begin to do this before the eyes of the physician. Thus,
the process of emotional re-education always begins with the
therapeutic release of the resentments of his current life situation.
Rage glues the patient's attention to the past, to the damage he
believes to have suffered; he must learn to look to the future,
learn from the damage and seek repair if and when possible. If
the patient arrives in the physician's office in a state of acute
emotional distress, the first order of business is of course to
relieve his distress.
Let me show with one example how emotional re-education
works. Suppose the patient is in a state of apprehension, unable
to tackle an inescapable task. Asked to give free rein to his
thought, he piles up his memories of failure at comparable tasks.
Emotional thought tends of course to justify and thus to feed the
Recent Advances in Psychoanalytic Therapy 611

emotion from which it springs and by which it is controlled. We

can indeed see that his apprehension grows. Suppose further
that by a stroke of good luck he not only arrives at the historical
origin of this particular apprehension but also discovers its con-
nection with a latent fear of damage to his sexual anatomy. In
whatever frame of reference the physician interprets this material,
with whatever skill, the patient will leave the office more dis-
heartened than he was when he came. I have seen this often
enough in my patients and in patients of other analysts.
There is a silver lining in every cloud. Memories can be looked
at from many angles. More often than we think, even memories
of true failure, not to speak of memories of presumed failure,
do contain elements of success. The therapeutic task is to neu-
tralize the perturbing power of memories of failure by playing

up the elements conducive to pleasure [10]. If this is done OB

a sufficiently large scale the patient advances from unwarranted
despair to warranted hope. We need not fear that we will be-
cloud his judgment and teach him how to deceive himself. On
the contrary,it is only when this emotional neutralization suc-

ceeds and his fears and rages subside that he becomes capable
of clear thought and realistic judgment. This procedure, the
emotional redefinition of memories, is a powerful aid in the
task of transforming the patient's emotional outlook or, as we
may put it, his field of emotional expectation, and restoring his
lost self-confidence. These changes are a prerequisite of all fur-
ther emotional learning.
One need not fear that treatment at the adult level of co-
operation deprives the patient of the requisite emotional incen-
tive. At first the child learns only if he loves those who teach him.

Later he discovers the intellectual and practical value of the

subject matter to which he is exposed. He then develops the
proper emotional incentives for learning by taking pleasure and
pride in his growing knowledge and skills. If the patient missed
out on this development he must acquire the proper emotional
mechanism of learning in his treatment.
A unique instrument of emotional re-education is the thera-
peutic analysis of the patient's dreams; the proved value of dream
analysis is considerably increased by a revised procedure. Other
612 Sandor Rado

innovations are the preventive handling of the patient's riddance

impulses [8, 13], known in the psychoanalytic literature as
"acting out"; the reversal of the vicious circles of disorder into
benign ones, and the dissolution of still accessible inhibitions.
Here I can do no more than mention these subjects. The same
applies to the development of special procedures for the treat-
ment of the patterns of self-damaging defiance and sexual pain-
dependence, other common sexual disorders, and the obsessive
and depressive patterns [16].

Concluding remarks on the adaptational technique

Viewed in its entirety, treatment with the adaptational tech-
nique takes place in a different intellectual and emotional climate.
As elsewhere in medicine, this change can be ascertained only
through the physician's own practical experience. This of course
requires thorough familiarity with all the details and finesses of
the adaptational technique.
Scientific psychotherapy has undergone a process of gradual
from subject
liberalization that has lifted the patient in status
must be recognized as the pioneer of
to citizen. Breuer's patient
this development. It was her good fortune and the good fortune
of psychotherapy that she sought help from a physician of the
scientific stature of Joseph Breuer. Breuer replaced the ancient
prohibitive technique of hypnotherapy with his permissive tech-
nique. There followed the emancipation of psychotherapy from
the hypnotic state, and its advance to the various forms of sug-
gestive therapy. Freud's catharsis in the waking state led to his
discovery of free association and of the patient's biography as
a proper subject of medical study. This marked the beginning of
a new epoch of psychotherapy based on psychodynamic princi-
ples.Freud's discovery of parentifying treatment behavior opened
up the patient's emotional relationship to the physician and
posed it as a crucial problem of all psychotherapy. However,
under the metaphysical guise of a repetition-compulsion, the
classical technique relapsed: it re-introduced the authoritarian
principle in the treatment of the patient. The adaptational techs
Recent Advances in Psychoanalytic Therapy 613

nique is an attempt to restore the line of initiated

development
by Breuer's patient.

The Task Ahead

Digging in the patient's past yields diminishing returns. This

fact poses a host of unexplored problems. Our technical skill in

dealing with emotions in its infancy. Emotional resonance,

is still

known in everyday life as the contagiousness of emotions, is a

significant mechanism in the therapeutic interaction of patient
and physician; it awaits experimental investigation. Work on the
patient's completely automatized inhibitions has hardly begun; as
yet we have only glimpsed the mechanism of reinforcement.
The adaptational technique pursues the Freudian goal of total
reconstruction. However, adaptational psychodynamics and some
of the newprinciples of the adaptational technique can be used
to develop a variety of other treatment procedures that would
attain lesser goals in much shorter time. The social need for what
I call trouble-shooting and easing methods of treatment is
press-
ing.
Though therapy is obviously a process of interaction of patient
and physician, the psychodynamics of the physician is still a
rather neglected chapter of inquiry. We have viewed the patient's
designs for co-operation in terms of a four-level scheme; we shall
have to view the therapeutic intentions of the physician in terms
of a corresponding scheme. We shall have to explore how the
physician's own emotional matrix influences his choice of method,
and how the fluctuations in his own emotional state influence his
conduct of the treatment.
We may look forward with confidence to the future develop-
ment of psychoanalytic therapy.

References

[1] BREUER, j. AND s. FREUD: Studies in hysteria. New York, Nervous am

Mental Disease Publishing Company, 1936. Published in German, 1895
614 Sandor Rado
[1] FERENCZI, s.: The principle of relaxation and neocatharsis. Int. J.
Psychoanal., 11:428, 1930.

[3] FREUD, s.: Freud's psychoanalytic method. In Collected papers, 1:264,

London, 1925. Published in German, 1904.

14] FREUD, s.: Papers on technique. In Collected papers, 2:285. London,

1924. Published in German, 1910-1919.

[5] FREUD, s.: "Transference" and "the analytic therapy." In A general

introduction to psychoanalysis, New York, 1935. Published in German,
1917.

[6] FREUD, s.: Analysis terminable and interminable. In Collected papers,

5:316, London, 1950. Published in German, 1937.

[7] RADO, s.: The economic principle in psychoanalytic technique. Int. J.

PsychoanaJ., 6:35, 1925.

[8] RADO, s.: Developments in the psychoanalytic conception and treatment

of the neuroses. Psychoanalyt. Quart., 8:427, 1939.

[9] RADO, s.: The relationship of patient to therapist. Arn. J. Orthopyschfat.,

12:542, 1942.

[10] RADO, s.: Pathodynamics and treatment of traumatic war neurosis

(traumatophobia) Psychosom. Med., 4:362, 1942.
.

[11J RADO, s.: Mind, unconscious mind and brain. Psychosora. Med., 11:165,
1949.

[12] RADO, s.: Between reason and magic. 105th annual meeting of the
Am. Psychia. Ass., Montreal, Quebec, 1949.

RADO, s.: Emergency behavior; with an introduction to the dynamics of

[13]
conscience. In Anxiety (Eds. Hoch and Zubin), New York, Grune and
Stratton, 1950.

RADO, s.: On the psychoanalytic exploration of fear and other emotions.

[14]
Transact. N. Y. Acad. Sc. II, 14:280.

[15] RADO, s.: Hedonic control, action-self and the depressive spell. In press,

[36] RADO, s.: Behavior disorders: their dynamics and classification. To be

published.
GLOSSARY

Abreaction: the re-experiencing of emotion associated with a

forgotten event in a psychotherapeutic situation.

Alloplastic: referring to deviant interpersonal behavior, as seen

in psychopathic states; see autoplastic,

Ambivalence: the simultaneous occurrence of two opposing

emotions, such as love and hate.

Amnesia: loss of memory.

Anal character: (see pp. 298-3 19) .

Anxiety: a state of apprehension, with bodily signs and symp-

toms, in which the danger is not objective.

Autism: a more or less exclusive preoccupation with one's own

inner self.

Autoerotism: sexual behavior directed toward one's own body.

Aufoplastic: referring to deviant behavior based on intra-

psychic forces, as distinguished from deviant behavior in-
duced by interpersonal forces.

Castration fear: the fear of a traumatic removal of the genitalia

*

as punishment for forbidden sexual desires.

Catharsis: the purging of the mind of repressed emotional ma-

terial by verbalization or acting out in a psychotherapeutic
situation.

Cathexis: investment of an object or concept with emotional

energy.

Character: the relatively permanent set of attitudes and modes

of behavior.

Compulsion: a compelling need to perform an act alien to the

conscious wishes of the individual.
615
616 Glossary

Condensation: the unconscious representation of two or more

people, ideas or emotions by one symbol.

Conscious: that which is in awareness.

Consensual validation: the confirmation of the correctness of

one's own attitudes, beliefs, or emotions by another.

Conversion hysteria: a type of neurosis in which somatic symp-

toms symbolically represent a repressed emotion.

Death instinct: (see pp. 5-8).

Displacement: the shifting of emotion from one object to an-

other or from one part of the body to another.

Ego: in Freud's terminology, that part of the psychic apparatus

which is in contact with the environment, and which medi-
ates between the needs of the id and the demands of the
superego.

Electra complex: a term formerly used to describe the erotic

attachment of a female child to her father (now included
in the term Oedipus complex).

Electroencephalogram: a record of the varying electrical po-

tentials in the brain.

Empathy: a perception of the state of feeling of another person

obtained through processes not involving verbalization or
other conscious communication.

Eros: (see pp. 5-8).

Erotogenic (or Erogenous) zones: areas of the body which give

rise to libidinal responses, e.g. oral, anal, genital.

Fixation: the arrest of personality development at a pregenital

stage of development.

Free association: the uncensored verbalization of all that comes

to mind in an analytic situation.

Genital stage: the final libidinal stage in which the genital inter-
est is directed toward others.

Gestalt(en): the total configuration in contrast to the detailing

of the parts.
Glossary 617

Ids that part of the psychic apparatus which contains uncon-

scious instinctual drives.

Interpretation: a statement made by the analyst to clarify or

revise previously held conceptions.

Kinesthesia: the awareness of muscular movement and position.

Latency period: Freud's term for the period in childhood dur-

ing which sexual activity is absent, usually extending from
the fifth or sixth year until puberty.

Libido: in psychoanalytic theory the psychic energy of the

sexual instincts.

Masculine protest: in Adlerian psychology, the drive for mascu-

line supremacy (mastery) designed to compensate for a
basic feeling of inferiority.

Mother fixation: excessive dependency in an adult on the

mother.

Narcissism: a) primary: original self-love (normal).

b) secondary: erotic involvement with oneself re-
sulting from interference in the development
of the love impulse toward others.

Negativism: automatic opposition to the real or fancied manipu-

lation by others.

Oedipus complex: the erotic attachment of a child to the

parent of the opposite sex [based on the well-known Greek
myth].

Obsession: uncontrollable repetitive desire or thought felt as

being foreign to the person.

Ontogeny: the developmental history of the individual.

Parataxis: Sullivan's term used to describe distortions of the

present in terms of the past; similar to transference.

Participant observation: a term used by Sullivan that makes

explicit the fact that the therapist-observer is also a partici-
pant in the therapeutic process.
618 Glossary
Phallic stage: a libidinal stage in which the genital interest is
directed toward the self as contrasted with the genital stage.

Phytogeny: developmental history of a race.

Pleasure principle: the hypothesis by Freud that the libidinal
instincts have but one drive, pleasure.

Polymorphous perverse: undirTerentiated sexual strivings, nor-

mal in infants.

Polypragmasy: simultaneous administration of many drugs or

of an excessive quantity of drugs.

Primary process: the completely free expression of libidinal

drives, as contrasted with secondary process.

Regression: in Freudian theory the return to an earlier phase

of libidinal development,

Repetition Compulsion: a pressing need to repeat early experi-

ences for the purpose of reliving the residual anxiety associ-
ated with them.

Repression: a process by which anxiety-laden impulses, thoughts

and emotions are made unconscious.

Resistance: the unconscious defenses which thwart self-explo-

ration.

Schizoid: a personality type characterized by excessive shyness

and withdrawal; akin to but not identical with schizophrenia.

Screen memory: a vivid but in itself relatively unimportant

memory-recall which replaces one laden with anxiety.

Secondary process: inhibitions or fixations of libido which

modify the free expression of libidinal drives (see primary
process).

Security operation: Sullivan's term to describe a defensive oper-

ation designed to minimize anxiety.

Self-dynamism: Sullivan's term for the organization of the self,

its security operation, and its modes of securing satisfactions.

"Shock" treatment: the treatment of the psychiatric patient by

chemical or physical means which produce convulsions.
Glossary 619

Sublimation: the process of diverting unacceptable, unconscious

libidinal drives into socially acceptable channels.

Substitution: a mental mechanism in which one concept is re-

placed by another.

Superego: in Freud's terminology that part of the psychic ap-

paratus which has a censoring and censuring function
toward the ego in relation to the demands of the id; hence
related to conscience.

Transference: the distorted perception of the present in terms

of the past, whereby the individual attributes to people in
his current life the attitudes and emotions of those in his
early family constellation.

Unconscious: that which is outside of awareness.

Vegetative: referring to that part of the nervous system which

controls the involuntary activities of the organism; consists
of sympathetic and parasympathetic systems.

Wolfman: the popular name given to one of Freud's early

patients.
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